


Heart of the problem

by millygal



Series: Heart [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frantic Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, Makeup Sex, Suicidal Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case takes the brothers to L.A where they run into a couple of soulled vamps. Dean's not sure he can fix what gets broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set a few eps into SPN season 8 and about 10 years after the Final Battle in Angel. Huge cookies and icecream shaped thanks go out towings128 Without her this monster never would've gotten finished!

Dean's sat at the bar, staring out into the heaving mass of bodies crowded around the dance floor, trying extremely hard not to walk up to the cro-magnum looking dude laying hands on his baby brother, "Once, just once, I'd like a job to be simple. Is that too much to ask?"

A sharp hit of ozone signals Castiel's arrival.

"About bloody time, where've you been. What's the what? Please tell me I can gank this son of a bitch!"

Cas is having a hard time concentrating.

Not only can he sense Dean's anger rolling off him like a nuclear blast wave, he's starting to feel the physical affects inside as well. The downside of celestial awareness; the linking of protector to the soul they protect.

Or in Cas's case, souls-plural.

It's made for some interesting hunting trips with the Winchesters.

Not that he is ever going to explain the way it works to either of the brothers, because, even for a millennia's old guard member, that is not a pretty prospect.

He is capable of understanding two of the most feared and skilled hunters in history, on a level that not even they themselves can comprehend.

There have been occasions when the angel has had to 'pop out' and centre himself or he was going to end doing very un-angel like things to their legs.

What exactly his father thought he was doing when he gave certain members of the garrison the ability to fully empathise with their charges, Castiel will never know.

He used to be able to shut it off, much like his 'radio' signals, but the Winchesters are a breed all of their own and it's becoming increasingly difficult to separate Dean and Sam's thoughts and feelings from his own.

That, and he's currently surrounded by a sea of squirming, sweaty, hormonal humans.

For the love of... why him, why did he get given a pair of lustful, confusing, ridiculously macho men to look after?!

He had been the angel on Miss Arc's shoulder, now she was pure.

But these two...as much as he admires them, appreciates the work they do... to some extent he even loves them. He has come to miss their inane chatter and infectious laughter when he isn't with them, but do they have to constantly confuse him with their back and forth between brothers, lovers and enemies?

His existence used to be so simple!

"Sorry Dean, no 'ganking' today. He is, what is it you say.... ah, yes, he is on the level."

Dean spins on his stool, pictures smacking Cas up side of his stupidly calm head, and digs his nails into the bar, "What! How is he on the level, he's a frigging vampire!"

"I did not risk my wings to enquire about the vampire as a favour to you, for you to dismiss my findings out of hand. I have given you your answer..."

Poor Dean. Castiel isn't above feeling sorry for the man, he has already had to put up with so much loss and pain, he really could do with a day off, "Look, you asked me, I have answered you. I will not stand here and be shouted at by a mere human who cannot handle the truth!"

Dean does a double take, can't hide his smirk, "Did you just throw a Jack Nicholson quote at me?"

"What, you gave me the box set," Cas does have the good graces to look ashamed, at least he tries to any way, "You were the one who said it was about time I started learning how to 'be' human."

Dean shakes his head and downs his whiskey, "But you aren't human, haven't been since god de-splatted you in that field in Kansas."

"Yes, but I found I quite liked the man with the wild eyebrows and funny shaped mouth. You would only complain if I lost all that 'learning' the minute I was welcomed back into the heavenly host."

"You're telling me, all those things we've done, all the shit that's gone down in the last three years, all the blood, sweat and down right fucked up crap that's been our lives, and you still sit with a brew and watch that box set? Do they even have DVD players in heaven!"

"Dean, my habits on my 'down time' are none of your concern."

Dean doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. Here he is debating the merits of Jack's best moments, whilst his baby brother is getting way too cosy with a creature of the fucking night, "Stop it. Look, I don't get how he, " Dean stares daggers at the not unattractive vampire across the room, "can be on the side of good."

Cas shakes his head and sighs. Here we go, "He is a champion Dean. He is one of us."

Dean snorts and orders another drink, "Yeah right, I don't wear that much hair gel just to go out and gank a few demons."

"He has a soul."

Dean works very hard not to reach out and shake the trench coat wearing idiot, "They've all got souls Cas, that's how they end up in purgatory!"

Cas plucks the glass out of Dean's hand, risking life and limb at this point, and takes a quick sip, "He has a human soul. He has had it for years. It was meant to be a punishment, but he has earned the right to keep it," looking skyward, Cas downs the rest of Dean's drink and places the empty glass on the bar, "they are very clear on his path. He is not to be harmed, at least, not by us."

Dean's about to motion for another drink when he notices Cas has refilled it for him already. Picking up the glass, rolling it across his aching forehead, Dean looks back out into the mess of bodies and sighs, "Fine! But that doesn't mean he gets to run his undead mitts all over my brother!"

"That is a problem for you, not me, or them, and I would think you would not be quite so judgemental when it came to Sam's choice in playmate. You have a case here, finish it and stop complaining."

Ouch, that hurt. Okay, so it isn't a million miles from the truth, but Dean's very much of the 'do as I say, not as I do' school, and he and Benny haven't even seen each other like that in weeks. He cut him off, for his brother. His brother who is practically panting in some fucking vampire's ear.

Double standards much!

"What about the other one, Captain Peroxide, can't I at least cut his head off?"

"No! I do not have time for this Dean, I am still trying to decipher what exactly is happening up there. Now stop being such a child, do your job and move on."

And then, nothing. No Cas, just a stinging in the back of Dean's throat from too much ozone and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, "What if Sammy doesn't wanna move on?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam knows Dean's watching him, watching them, but at this present moment in time, he really couldn't give a rat's ass.

Angel's resting a hand on Sam's hip, leaning in close, whispering in his ear, and Sam couldn't give a flying fuck if Dean wants to rip off both their heads. It's been a bloody age since any one other than Amelia looked at him like that, and Sam's not about to pass up the opportunity to feel like something other than a failure.

He wouldn't even be doing this if it weren't for the fact that Dean'd made it pretty damned obvious he'd found someone else to look out for and up to. Benny, god, Sam so wants to beat that undead jerk until he can't walk.

Sam's not unaware of the irony of that, but Angel's different, he actually has a soul, a human one at any rate.

Sam just wants to feel, feel good about himself, feel wanted and needed, and maybe even loved.

He's pretty sure that's not where Angel's head is at, but it's better than having to go to bed alone at night whilst the man he threw himself into the pit for looks at him like he's grown a second head.

The pain of having Dean so close, and yet so far out of reach has been un-bloody-bearable, and Sam can't take it anymore.

If Angel wants to offer a little comfort in the cold, Sam's not gonna turn him away.

Sam senses the displacement of air in the room and realises that Cas has just dropped in and out. Sam wonders what exactly he wanted, but judging by the look of pure rage on Dean's face, Sam's got a damn good idea, which means perhaps he and his new 'friend' should shag ass out of here before Dean pops a blood vessel trying not to kill the pair of them.

"Hey, you wanna make a move? Something tells me it could get a little unfriendly in here."

Angel follows Sam's sight line and is almost knocked backwards by the intensity of Dean's anger.

He hasn't known the brothers long, days, but he's puzzled a few things out already;

Dean's got a poker face worthy of the Rat Pack back in the day, so the blatant hostility he's aiming in Angel's direction is wholly intentional.  
Sam thinks he plays things close to the chest, but is actually an open book.  
Dean's a hard hearted bastard, until Sam makes 'that' face at him.  
Neither one of them has ever been in love...with anyone else. They may have dipped a toe in a few relationships, but nothing's ever stuck.  
Dean likes Angel, despite his better judgement. Which is what's pissing Dean off so royally, that and the distinct shared scent the boys have.  
Sam doesn't really know what he wants outside of what he can't have.

Angel thinks perhaps he can help the pair of them out, without ever admitting he knows what he's doing. Sam would never agree to play his brother so harshly anyway, but Angel can see, just from the way Sam's whole body moves in a mirror to Dean's even when they aren't within touching distance, that Sam's never going to truly want anyone other than Dean.

Angel's not stupid, nor is he a martyr.

He's lived long enough to see what soul mates really look like, and he's earned the right to meddle where no one else dares.

Plus, it wouldn't hurt to have a little fun whilst he can. The soul's anchored, Captain Pissy-Pants is currently banging some shifter with a thing for spandex, so he has time on his hands.

Angel will admit he really wants to see what Sam looks like naked. I mean, who wouldn't! He's 6 foot 4 of muscle and sinew and something very very male, despite his preferences and leanings.

He's not planning on falling in love, he's already found his mate, even if they do occasionally have to take time out so as not to murder each other in their sleep. But, Spike's away playing chew toy for someone else, Angel doesn't see any harm in it. He knows from watching the brothers for these last few days that Sam's not a heart break risk, he's too busy mending and protecting against whatever tore the two of them apart in the first place, to fall for Angel.

Dean, however is a risk, at least he is if anyone shows him where the pointy end of a stake goes. Angel will have to ease into this one and ease back out again otherwise he could end up as a dust buster's worst nightmare.

"Come on then, I'm assuming that Dean's not invited?"

Shaking his head, Sam eyes his brother across the room, pins him with a look that says follow and die, grabs Angel's arm and walks out the club.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean watches Sam walk away with Angel and has to grab hold of the bar to keep from following.

Fine, if Sam wants to go play 'house' with the undead, he'll just go back to the motel and work. Or at least he'll pretend to work whilst thinking up inventive ways to dust Angel.

God he wishes Bobby were here. Not only would he kick Sam's ass for walking out on his brother with a vampire, but he'd have some witty remark up his sleeve to cheer Dean up.

Oh who is he kidding? Bobby would have banged their heads together and told them to stop being idjits, he also would've told Dean he'd brought this on himself by fucking a vampire in purgatory then making it blatantly obvious that Sam wasn't worth any where near as much as said vampire.

Yep, Dean's an idiot. But hey, he knew that already. Now he just has to figure out how to stop Sam falling for 'Overhanging forehead guy'.

"Seriously, why is it never easy!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean's been back at the motel an hour before his phone 'pings' with an incoming text.

Out on patrol, found a lead, be back after dawn

"Yeah right. On patrol my ass!"

Dean grits his teeth, taps out a reply and is about to hit send when he realises that no matter what he sends back, Sam's gonna take it the wrong way, he may as well be honest for once.

Was hoping to see you tonight, we need to talk.

Well that's done it.

Sam's either gonna ignore him, which will just piss Dean off even more, or he'll reply and then Dean's gonna have to actually talk to him.

This is pathetic. Dean's sat, phone 'screen-up' on the table, watching for the flashing message icon. When did he turn into a complete bitch?

*ping*

Dean holds his breath, not sure what exactly he's hoping for. If Sam comes back, he'll either have to pony up and deal or he'll have to lie, and that will just push Sammy even further away.

Dean tries to ignore the little voice in the back of his brain that usually tells him how everything is all his fault, because that dude is currently sing-songing that Sam's gonna fuck Angel regardless of what Dean does or says to get him back to the motel.

He knows he may as well just put the phone down and go to sleep, but every time he shuts his eyes, visions of Sam spread eagled and begging, on all fours in front of Angel, come dancing into his head.

This is gonna be a long night.

Picking up his phone, Dean clicks open the message and feels his gut twist.

Talk tomorrow. Busy. Night.

"Well that's just ass full of fuck! Fuckity fuck fuck!"

Dean could push it and ring Sam, but something tells him he'll just end up with an ear full of abuse. That or he'll catch Sammy's voicemail and end up leaving a message he can't hack and delete.

Putting the phone to one side, Dean wills his imagination to stop being so god damn mean and tries to put the rolling picture show inside his head on hold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wow!"

Angel sometimes forgets he's still living in the penthouse of Wolfram and Hart.

After the final battle he'd had no where else to go, and as they weren't using it anymore, what with the killing and maiming, and their pet dragon having been slain, they'd upped and fucked off out of the dimension.

They're still haggling for souls in other realms, but it's a small victory that Angel's going to grab with both hands.

"Yeah, I don't notice it anymore."

Sam smirks at Angel's back and shrugs off his jacket, "Little bit smug there, wouldn't you say?"

"No, not really. I practically had to sell my soul for the top spot, I might as well enjoy it."

Sam's horrified look has Angel back peddling, "Not literally Sam. Calm. It's a long story."

Angel doesn't want this intriguing creature tucking tail and running before he's had chance to taste him, everywhere.

Sam looks less than convinced, but he isn't backing out of the door, so Angel shoots for nonchalant, "Make yourself at home, I'll grab us some drinks."

This is a very bad idea. It's right up there with letting Ruby use him as her hell-bitch. Yet...Sam can't help watching Angel's shoulders stretching the fabric of his shirt, the way his satin trousers slide across his absolutely stunning backside. You could bounce a dime off that ass and Sam finds himself imagining digging his nails in and riding out the waves.

Little Brain is well and truly in charge as Sam toes off his boots and curls himself into the plush leather coach that dominates the room. As Angel hands him a beer, Sam's fingers brush against the vampire's and he's shocked to realise just how cold Angel's skin is.

Sam wonders if Angel's that cold everywhere. Will his cock feel like a popsicle on his tongue, will he be able to feel the temperature between his legs, will it cool or heat? There's a fine line between ice and fire. Every kid knows that sticking your tongue to the freezer door burns. Will Sam's skin hurt when Angel runs his tongue across it?

Angel drags Sam back from his lust filled musings by sliding in next to him on the couch. Every fibre in Sam's body is calling out to 'flee' but he clamps down on his hunter's instincts and shifts forward slightly, letting Angel slip a leg behind him.

Angel decides he can't be bothered to play the gentleman anymore. He's got a raging hard on and a picture of Sam sucking his cock like a candy cane. If he's going to get anywhere with the hunter he has to leave him no place to run. Sam seems like he's far too good at not taking what he actually wants.

Angel wants Sam, just like he wanted Dru, like he wanted, despite his better judgement, Spike. He doesn't want to keep Sam, a little taste is all he needs, but he's not gonna give him the chance to back away. Not when he can smell Sam's arousal, when he can hear the hitch in his heartbeat and feel the warmth of his skin even through layers of cloth.

Angel briefly considers telling Sam everything. Explaining his whole salacious past, from loves to kills, but if he wants Sam on his back and begging, it'll have to wait. He marvels at the way he feels comfortable enough in Sam's presence to want to tell him about life as a souled freak.

Deciding not to question it too closely, Angel discards his beer and sneaks his hands underneath the back of Sam's shirt, "This okay?"

Sam jumps at the feel of Angel's hands on his back. It's an odd sensation, his over heated skin being cooled by the fingers tracing patterns against his spine, "You see me moving?"

Yep, Angel definitely likes this kid, just the right amount of 'give them hell' mixed in with the blatant insecurities he's hiding just below the surface. In his Angelus days, before the soul, he'd have taken his sweet time grooming this one. He'd have had him pleading to become Angelus's alone. He'd have filled Sam's head so full of himself that he wouldn't have known where he ended and Angelus began.

Leaning forward, Angel lets his tongue play across Sam's pulse point, gentle little licks that have Sam twisting his head far enough over that Angel could easily sink his teeth in. Not now. Not right now anyway. He alternates between scraping his nails along Sam's spine and dipping his fingers into the crease of Sam's ass. Never going further than his jeans that are riding nice and low.

Sam's whole body is on fire. He hasn't been touched like this in so long that the smallest of contact is driving him insane. It's too much and no where near enough all at the same time. He's fully aware baring his throat to something that could drain him in seconds is a fucked up way to get your rocks off, but Sam's pretty sure Angel won't turn him, not with a soul anchoring him.

At least he hopes Angel's soul is keeping him in check.

Rolling his shoulders and leaning back into Angel, Sam has to readjust himself. His jeans are now painfully tight and there's a small wet patch starting to bloom between his legs. He's almost ashamed at how quickly Angel has managed to turn him on, but the lack of physical contact in the last weeks has him hornier than a teenage boy at prom.

As Angel removes his hands from Sam's skin Sam whimpers and makes as if to reach back and grab his wrists but Angel's too quick for the young human.

Gripping Sam's shoulders, Angel forces him to turn between his legs. Sam's tall enough to make it comical despite the size of the couch, but the look on his face stops Angel from making any comment. Angel realises that Sam is just about holding onto his senses and he allows himself a moment of pride at the fact he has this hardened hunter, this killing machine, turned into a wanting mess.

Sam shifts round, slots his legs above Angel's thighs and locks his ankle's behind the vampire's back. Very purposely grinding himself into Angel's lap, Sam thrills at the erection he can feel pressing against his ass, "We gonna do this here?"

Angel shows off just how strong he really is by reaching back and unhooking Sam's ankles, slipping his hands under Sam's arms and bodily lifting him off the couch. Sam's eyes widen and Angel would lay money on the fact that the hunter in his arms is thinking up interesting ways to use that strength for his own pleasure.

Angel licks a fingernail and runs it along the side seam of Sam's shirt, shredding it in two.

He thinks perhaps he should leave Sam's jeans in one piece, not that he wouldn't love to watch that ass walk out of here in nothing but boxers, but he thinks Dean may just kill him on principle if he sends his little brother back looking totally fucked and naked.

Standing, laying his hands flat against Sam's bare chest, Angel shoves him backwards towards the spare room, not stopping until Sam's shoulder blades come into contact with the door frame.

Sam cracks his head against the door post and giggles. The sound of it shocks Angel out of his fevered imaginings for just a second, "Never pegged you for a giggler Sam. Something I'm doing amusing you?"

Sam shakes his head and gives Angel a sheepish look, "No it's just...two Hunters, an Angel and a vampire walk into a bar..."

Quirking an eyebrow, Angel grins and nods but doesn't answer. He can hear Sam's blood rushing round his veins, smell the salty tang of pre-come, and he's far too intent on seeing what it tastes like sliding down his throat to ask what the punch line is.

Sam inhales Angel's unique scent, a strange melding of something savoury mixed with the tiniest hint of death, and finds his head spinning. Is this a part of the vampire's appeal? Is this how he hunts, does he smell good enough to eat in order to put his prey off of running? Or is it just that Sam wants him so badly that the scent is a personal incentive?

Reaching out, Sam starts undoing Angel's shirt buttons, fumbles the first one and finds his palms too sweaty to get a grip on the second.

Angel takes pity, grips Sam's wrists in one hand and uses the same move on his own shirt as he had on Sam's.

Angel is slightly taller than Sam, not by much, but it's been a long time since Sam's had to look up to anyone and he finds it intoxicating. Having this creature, this all be it souled and seemingly tamed creature, staring down on him like he's a sweet treat to devour.

Angel notes that Sam isn't actually wearing any boxers, all he can see is the soft dusting of hair that tantalises by disappearing beneath his jeans, leading to what Angel thinks is gonna be a very good time.

Licking his lips, Angel crouches down, pops the button on Sam's jeans and slides them down his legs. Sam automatically lifts his feet for him and Angel's sense of smugness increases ten fold. Kneeling now, face level with Sam's crotch, Angel eyes the hard, blood filled and seeping cock twitching in front of him and decides he really needs to see what Sam feels like nudging against his vocal cords.

Engulfing Sam in his cold mouth, Angel allows his human teeth to graze the sensitive underside of Sam's cock and reaches out to steady and keep the human on his feet. Cupping Sam's ass cheeks in his hands, he runs the pad of his thumb against Sam's ring of tight muscles.

Sam's knees are threatening to buckle, the sensation of freezing lips and blunt teeth surrounding him is such a shock that he has to grab the doorframe to stop from crumpling at Angel's feet, "Jesus!"

Angel grins round Sam's cock, hollows his cheeks and sucks as hard as he can. He should be taking it easy, Sam obviously hasn't been sucked off in a long time, but the taste of Sam's sweet human flesh in his throat is far more than Angel has the where with all to resist.

It's been a very long time since the vampire has had a human playmate and he'd almost forgotten how amazing, how mesmerizing the taste of living flesh can be.

Not only can he hear Sam's heart beat, but he can feel it pulsing against his tongue every time he sweeps it across the head of Sam's cock. The blood running just beneath the surface sings to a part of Angel that no other creature in creation will ever understand and he presses forward far enough to take Sam right to the back of his throat. Not having to breath sometimes comes in handy.

It's only Angel's icy hands holding Sam upright now. He's both ashamed and elated at being used so thoroughly. The goose bumps peppering Sam's skin remind him that this is no human. The touch of cold against warm is, as he first suspected, a very strange thing. Not un-likable, but it speaks to his innate instincts and Sam has to force himself to relax. Angel won't hurt him, not unless Sam asks.

Sam whimpers, thrusts forward and feels the tip of his cock slide neatly down Angel's throat. So, they really don't need to breath. Nice.

When Sam can keep his eyes open, he watches Angel's mouth wrapped around him and can't miss the satisfied smile, in spite of the flesh forcing it's way down Angel's gullet. He's enjoying this. It must be something he doesn't get chance to do often. From what Sam's experiencing, humans must automatically back away from him, fight or flight, on some level they must know that bloody death waits for them if they stay too close to him.

Sam doesn't think for one minute that Angel's never had a human lover but he also knows that Angel has something going on with the other vampire he and Dean had met in that alley way. So he must prefer the 'company' of his own kind. Sucking a human off, the scents and sounds to Angel's enhanced abilities is something that Sam wouldn't mind experiencing, out of simple curiosity.

His research instincts will get him killed one of these days.

Angel pulls away, lets Sam's cock drop from his lips, and stands. giving Sam a moment to settle his nerves, Angel braces himself against the doorframe, hands either side of Sam's flushed face, and leans in to claim Sam's parted lips in a searing kiss.

Sam allows Angel's tongue to sweep the inside of his dry mouth. Tasting himself on Angel's tongue makes his need even worse than before. Usually he wouldn't even consider bottoming for a stranger. Human or not. But Sam's ass is twitching at the thought of having Angel's cock buried deep.

As if reading Sam's mind, Angel pulls Sam away from the doorway and launches him backwards onto the bed. Smacking his lips, Angel stalks across the bed, covering Sam's body with his own, "You ever tell Spike I asked you this, I'll never speak to you again, but...top or bottom Sam?"

Sam's eyebrows knit for a second and then he laughs, "Something tells me you don't ask very often."

Angel lets his tongue play across Sam's chest, snagging a nipple between his teeth, "Not as a general rule, no, but I'm assuming it's been a while and...I want you to enjoy yourself."

Sam thinks if Angel doesn't know he's already enjoying himself, then he needs to show more willing.

Sam arches into Angel's mouth, allowing himself to fall into the feeling of having teeth and tongue undo his hard held control, "Don't care, just...fuck me!"

Angel trails wet kisses along Sam's ribs, knowing that the heat he's creating will be tampered by his naturally low body temperature. Angel watches the goose bumps rise and then disappear as Sam's own heated skin reacts against his flesh's natural aversion to the touch.

Hooking a hand under Sam's hip, Angel easily flips him onto all fours. He takes a second to really look at the human offering himself up for Angel's pleasure and lets the different layers of sensation wash over him; Heat, blood, arousal, Sam's own scent. The sound of Sam's heartbeat nearly hammering out of his chest.

Sam bites down on his bottom lip and forces himself to stay still. The voice in the back of his head is screaming at him to run, all the years of fighting against creatures like this are coming back to him, but he won't allow the memories and instincts to end this before he's gotten what he wants.

He wonders if this is how Dean had felt when he...No, he can't think about that right now, if he does he'll definitely back out, and Sam needs this.

Angel grabs the tube of lube from the bed side draw, twists the top off and covers two fingers in the sticky liquid, "What do you want?"

Sam thinks maybe honesty isn't the best policy here, because right now, despite his aching cock and his heated skin, what Sam really wants is Dean behind him, breaking him and putting him back together, "You."

Angel's not stupid, he can hear the note of hesitation in Sam's voice, and knows it for what it truly is, the regret of it being someone other than his brother about to fuck him into the mattress. Angel doesn't take offence, instead he scrapes his lube covered nails across Sam's hole and enjoys the quiver in the human's thighs and the sound of air being forcibly pushed round Sam's lungs.

Splaying his clean hand against Sam's back, Angel pushes down, forcing Sam to arch up, stick his ass further towards Angel's fingers.

Angel's weighing up whether the softly softly approach is really best when Sam wiggles himself onto the tips of Angel's fingers, effectively answering his un-asked question.

Sliding the fingers resting on Sam's back up into his hair, Angel grasps a handful and yanks Sam's head backwards, exposing the soft flesh of his throat. Shoving his fingers into Sam, scissoring them harshly, Angel thinks that Sam might benefit from a bit of rough play, but won't push it, not unless Sam makes it totally obvious that's what he wants.

All non-sex related thoughts have fled Sam's brain, leaving him thinking in sensation rather than cognitive pros.

Angel's fingers are ice cold and burning against the over heated bundle of muscles he's currently violating. It's painful, in that 'fine line' way. Sam's cock is so hard, the head is throbbing and he really wants to take himself in hand but the denial of his own need is something Sam's actually quite enjoying.

Fucking himself on Angel's fingers, all the way down to his cold knuckles, Sam groans and arches as far back as he can, letting Angel know he's ready for more, much more.

Never letting up the pressure on Sam's scalp, Angel removes his fingers from the hunter's loosened ass, guides himself to Sam's hole and slams forward. Burying himself from tip to base. It's cruel, but something tells Angel Sam's not going to complain. He needs a good fucking, a little pain to anchor him in the now.

Moulding himself to Sam's back, Angel rocks them both. Lacing his other hand round Sam's chest, he pinches a nipple and fights the urge to thrust as Sam's body twitches around him.

"God...Angel, I...please..."

Angel chuckles, lets his face morph into that of the demon and nuzzles between Sam's taut shoulder blades, "What, Sammy what?"

Sam stiffens in Angel's arms and Angel knows instantly what he's done, "Sorry, sorry, I won't call you...Sam, what do you want?"

Sam can't form cohesive sentences. The combination of guilt for being here and the revulsion at hearing Dean's nickname for him coming out of Angel's mouth have effectively short circuited his thought process. He clamps down on the urge to struggle free and forces himself to relax back into Angel's embrace, "I want...I need, just.."

Angel uses the arm wrapping Sam's chest to lift them both back onto their haunches so Sam is resting in angel's lap, and starts pushing upwards, short sharp thrusts that have Sam twisting in his arms. Sam pulls against Angel's fingers in his hair, lets him see the blood pumping through his veins and uses his hands to pull himself up off of Angel before slamming back down, fucking himself, hard.

Angel's face is still that of the demon and he can feel the pressure of his orgasm building at the base of his spine and behind his eyes. Running a brow ridge against Sam's jugular, he hopes Sam knows that if he really wants to be bitten, he's going the right way about it.

"Do it!"

Sam knows that he's going to want to scrub until his skin bleeds later, but right now he needs to feel what it is that has Dean so enamoured of his vampire fuck buddy. And he'd be lying if he said he'd never thought about it. Hell, he's been thinking about Angel sinking his teeth into him since he saw him in that alleyway.

"Sam are you...if this is about something else then I won't..."

Angel hasn't stopped rocking them on the spot, he was determined not to allow Sam his head when he was showing signs of fleeing, but Sam's now asking something of him that Angel isn't sure Sam can handle.

He's a hunter, the thought of a hunter asking to be bitten is repugnant, even to the vampire with his cock buried deep inside one. Angel wants so badly to taste Sam's blood, it's been humming along his veins, singing to Angel, and he's well passed the point of refusal.

He wants to see Sam's face though, he wants to make sure Sam knows that he isn't going to drain and drop him, not just for Sam's peace of mind, but for his own as well.

Lifting Sam almost all the way off of his cock, Angel turns him onto his back, nestles between his thighs and rakes his fingers through Sam's hair, staring deep into his eyes, "Ask me."

Sam's lost, he's so far lost in the sensations Angel's creating in his long un-loved body, that his brain is playing catch up, "Wha..."

Angel morphs back to his human visage, thrusts deep inside Sam, grips his thigh and digs his nails into the forgiving skin, "Ask me."

A light bulb goes off in Sam's head, "Bite me. Please."

The hitch in Sam's voice is Angel's undoing. Sam's very obvious need to be consumed in every way he can has Angel's eyes turning yellow, his face twisting into that of the demon and his fangs aching for Sam's flesh.

Moving slow, slow enough to give Sam the chance to rescind the invitation, Angel scrapes the tip of his fangs against Sam's throat.

Sam wraps his legs round Angel's waist, pulls him in as far as possible and lifts his head up and away, giving Angel full access.

That's all it takes, that one tiny action and Angel's on him. His fangs pierce Sam's throat and the first drops of Sam's blood wash over his tongue and he swallows greedily, gulping down mouthful after mouthful.

Sam's gut instincts kick in and he struggles beneath Angel. The feel of his blood flowing into angel's mouth is both amazing and horrendous all at once.

His vision whites out, recedes at the edges and he can feel his life force being drained but his body is a despicable and treacherous thing. As Angel continues to thrust deep inside him, banging up against that sensitive bundle of nerves that has the ability to turn him into mush, Sam feels his own orgasm threatening.

Sam has a vague image of Angel not being able to stop and his macabre sense of humour kicks in. At least he'll die with his boots off.

Angel feels Sam's body going limp beneath him, even though his cock is rock hard and pressed painfully against Angel's ribs. Stop, must stop. He retracts his fangs, laps at the small trickle of blood leaking down Sam's collarbone and grabs Sam's hands, forcing them above his head.

Sam comes back to himself, feels the strength return to his limbs and becomes painfully aware that he is close to tears, "Please, Angel..."

Angel smiles down at Sam, lets reassurance shine from his eyes as he pounds into the young hunter.

Gripping both of Sam's wrists in one hand, Angel leans away far enough to wrap his free hand round Sam's cock, "Come for me!"

Sam isn't a passive spectator in his own downfall. He bucks up into Angel, matching his rhythm stroke for stroke and concentrates on the fingers pushing him closer and closer to the edge, "Oh god, Angel, I...fuck. I'm gonna..."

Angel flicks his wrist, scrapes nails down the side of Sam's cock and buries himself as deep as can in Sam's ass as Sam's cock pulses and a stream of hot salty come spills over his knuckles. It warms his skin for a moment.

As Sam's body tightens and snaps upwards, Angel allows himself to let go. Sam's muscles milk Angel dry as white spots flicker behind his eyes and he can't stop his face changing between human and vampire.

They both still, trying to get their bearings.

"Jesus..."

Angel rolls off of Sam, loops an arm round Sam's shoulders and draws him to his chest, "Was it good for you?"

The smug note in Angel's voice is unmistakable and Sam finds himself thinking about the same expression Dean always has on his face after he's emptied himself inside Sam, "Smug, Angel, seriously, you need to learn a little humility."

"Not in my nature Sam."

As they both come down, Sam heaving for breath, Angel not so much, Sam realises that he's just risked death by love bite and hears Dean's voice in his head, What are you, a complete fucking idiot!. Chuckling to himself, Sam can't stop his lids from drooping.

He feels Angel tuck the covers in around them both, "Sleep Sam. I'll be here when you wake up."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's ass 'o' clock in the morning and Dean hasn't slept more than 20 minutes at a time all night.

The idea of Sam letting some undead creep crawl up inside him is making him physically sick but he has no way of finding Sam, no way of beating Angel's door down and shoving a stake so far up his ass that he tastes splinters before he dusts.

This is ridiculous. Why, why would Sam want to...Dean knows why, he knows full well why.

He hasn't touched Sam in weeks, and Sam's the kind of guy who needs contact, whether it's hand holding or fucking up against the hood of the impala. He needs the physicality. So Dean's probably just spent the last few weeks ensuring that Sam is getting his ass well and truly fucked.

If he'd known that being pissy with his brother was going to result in Sam choosing to go home with a vampire, Dean would've been humping him against every wall from here to Illinois.

Not only has he kept his distance physically, but Dean's taken every single chance to rub his and Benny's relationship in his brother's face. More than once he's seen Sam close to tears after Dean's made some horrid comment about Benny being more of a brother than Sam's ever been. After each barb, Dean's wanted to chop his tongue off, but pride and hurt have stopped him from telling Sam that he didn't mean a single thing he's said and he and Benny haven't been with each other since Sam and Dean found each other again.

Dean's basically been facilitating his own hell without realising.

Tonight is retribution, payback, all the things Dean deserves for giving Sam such a hard time.

Doesn't mean he isn't itching to go kill something. Preferably the duster wearing dick that's got his baby brother squirreled away doing got knows what.

Closing his eyes, Dean tries once again to coax sleep out of his over worked brain.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam wakes to the sensation of being watched.

Instantly going on the defensive, he tenses his shoulders and cracks an eye. He finds Angel staring down at him, leaning up on one elbow, small smile playing at his lips, "What time is it?"

"Little after 4am."

Sam runs both hands through his hair and tucks a few stray strands behind his ears, "Don't you ever sleep?"

Angel laughs and nods, "A little. Less than I used to and way less than you need to."

Sam's stomach rumbles, making Angel grin and Sam go bright red, "Sorry, must have worked up an appetite somehow."

"Hmm, I wonder. Want something to eat?"

Sam nods and makes as if to slide out of bed but Angel lays a hand on his chest, "No stay, I'll get it. Bowl of cereal okay?"

Sam nods again then raises an eyebrow, "You have cereal, but I thought..."

Angel rises and disappears for a moment, chuckling as he goes, "Not mine, I don't particularly like human food, but Spike..."

Sam doesn't bother raising his voice, knowing that Angel can hear him even from two rooms away, "Speaking of...doesn't he mind you," Angel returns, big bowl of cocoa puffs in his hands which Sam gratefully accepts, "bringing home strays?"

Angel shakes his head and settles back down next to Sam, "No, not really. We've been together long enough now. He's away on, shall we say vacation... We've been doing this on and off for about a hundred years. We understand that for creatures like us eternity would get a little stale if you didn't allow yourselves the chance to explore. Doesn't mean we don't love and trust each other."

Sam digs into his milky treat and considers what Angel's telling him, "So he's off doing exactly what we've just done?"

Angel links his fingers behind his head and lets Spike's smirking face appear behind his eyes, "Probably not exactly what we've just done. He doesn't like humans as much as me. He's currently wooing a spandex wearing shifter. So, more flexible antics perhaps, not too much more though."

Sam chuckles and asks the question he's been dying to for days, "How exactly did you end up with a soul anyway? And how did Spike? I mean, he's not exactly the caring sharing type is he. I know I didn't get much of an insight but he seems a little more...rough round the edges."

Snuggling down under the covers, enjoying the heat emanating from Sam's side of the bed, Angel closes his eyes and sighs, "Spike's story is, well it's not mine, so I don't feel comfortable telling it. But my soul...it was a punishment."

Sam almost chokes on a mouthful of milk, "A punishment?"

Angel had been hoping he wouldn't have to do this, it's not like Sam's gonna be hanging around after they've finished off their current beast, but he thinks perhaps Sam deserves some kind of explanation. Plus, Angel's fine with Sam knowing he just doesn't want the hunter thinking any less of him once he knows about Angelus.

"Yeah, a punishment. I wasn't always a vampire you know."

Huh, Sam hadn't even thought about it. He knows how his kind of vamps are made, he doesn't think it'd be so different for Angel's kind, but he hadn't really considered the 'how' before now. Sam lets his head fall back against the headboard, enjoying the lilt in Angel's voice. What is that, Irish brogue?, "How old are you anyway?"

Angel smirks and lets his knee rest against Sam's under the covers, "You sure you want to know?"

Sam cracks an eye when he feels the bed shift.

Angel wiggles around, gets himself comfy for what is obviously going to be a long story, "You wouldn't get much change from 200 years."

Sam lets that little bit of information sink in, "You're looking good for your age then, huh?"

"Sam," Angel runs cool fingers up Sam's warm chest, "I'm looking good for any age."

Sam tips the bowl to his lips, drinks the last of his chocolate flavoured milk and quirks an eyebrow in Angel's direction, "Again, smug."

"I've learnt to embrace my less genteel character traits. Do you wanna know about my sordid past or not?"

Sam smirks and inhales deeply, "How sordid?"

Angel grins, leans sideways and breaths the words into Sam's ear, sending a shiver even the densest of humans couldn't have missed, down Sam's spine, "Very."

"Lead on Mac Duff"

"Shakespeare too, well you are a mystery Sam Winchester."

Sam laughs loudly, a short sharp almost sarcastic bark, "I'm no mystery. I like to kill things, I let my mouth run away with me, and I could get in trouble in an empty bar. Simple. And I'm currently laying naked next to a creature that could drop me before I'd even reached for my gun, so apparently I'm fucking stupid too. Stop stalling, talk."

Angel closes his eyes lets a sad smile creep onto his face, "I was born in Ireland too many years ago. And, as usual with me, I managed to let a woman screw me, well bite me. Darla. She was, she was amazing. Despite the fangs and the lack of soul, she was a truly amazing creature."

The tenderness mixed with regret has Sam tilting his head up to see the look on Angel's face. It's the same expression Sam's worn ever since he first tasted Dean all those years ago. Awe, fear and love all rolled into one.

Sympathy, a little jealousy, and a large dose of guilt at the thought of Dean, sneaks in at the edges of Sam's mind.

Angel hasn't noticed Sam watching him, he's in another century, looking at a woman with flaxen hair and pale skin, "She was my sire. I ended up killing her. Twice if you count...well, let's just say we spent a good portion of our lives fighting with and against each other."

Sam doesn't know whether to jump in with the millions of questions rushing through his mind. Angel seems so engrossed in the memories, Sam feels like a voyeur, "How did you end up with a human soul?"

Angel shudders at the thought, at the unbidden sense memory of having his soul forced back into his body, "A gypsy elder decided I deserved punishment for my crimes against his people. He wasn't wrong. It still hurt like hell though."

Sam's caught up in his own imaginings of Angel as a soulless beast, and he has to admit that the thought isn't totally unappealing. The vamps he and Dean have faced over the years have been nothing like this creature. They've hidden and scrounged for scraps. Even the non-vegetarian ones tended to hide away in the shadows.

Something tells Sam that Angel and his 'family' were never much for hiding.

"Once I was all soul having, as a good friend of mine once put it, I became a wreck, I lived on the fringes for a very long time, until someone came along, a demon, who told me I could do more, be more. I naturally told him to go get bent, but he forced me to see that the pain I was in could be used for good. He was a good man, horrendous taste in clothing, but a good man."

Sam tries to keep the disbelieving note out of his voice, "A demon, a good man?"

Angel runs his hands down Sam's arm, digs his nails in a little forcefully and chuckles, "Seen as you are currently snuggled up in bed with a vampire, I wouldn't judge."

Sam forces himself to not pull the covers over his bare chest and gives Angel an apologetic smile, "I wasn't, it's just...we've met a few less than evil, evil things. Given a few passes, but demons, the demons we've known, have all been class A bastards."

"Demon means something different to you. Black smoke and the removal of someone's will. Demon to me means anything that isn't human. All of us, vampires and monsters, we all come from a pure form of demonic being. Most of my kind are considered halflings, mutants not worthy of anything with pure blood. We're tainted with humanity."

Sam's never really thought of it like that. Demons are different to monsters, but that's the only distinction they've bothered to make over the years. Then again, up until four days ago, he'd been sure you couldn't actually stake a vampire to dust.

Sam has a sudden urge to ask something, not for Angel's benefit, but for his own peace of mind, "Did it hurt?"

"What?"

"Getting the creamy filling shoved back in your donut?"

"What, the soul? like a son of a bitch. Felt like I was going to spontaneously combust, and for me, that's a real possibility."

Sam weighs up the benefits of sharing his own soul story with Angel and decides that it would be nice to talk to someone who doesn't get a pained and guilt ridden look on their face every time it's mentioned, "Me too."

"You...what?"

"When someone 're-stitched my shadow', it felt like death, only death would've been a release."

Angel turns to Sam, looks deep into his eyes and realises that there's more than even he thought to this intriguing man, "You lost your soul?"

"No, yes, well...lost is a broad term. More like it got left behind."

"Where?"

"Hell."

Even for Angel, who's been to a hell dimension, who suffered great and varied torments whilst there, the thought of a human, fully human soul being left in hell, it doesn't bare contemplating.

He doesn't know why, but the look on Sam's face, the smile that doesn't reach his eyes and the sadness in his voice, makes Angel want to walk out and rip whoever managed to botch Sam's rescue a new one.

"Hell, Hell?"

"Oh yes. Complete with fiery pit and Satan picking the in flight entertainment."

The involuntary shiver Sam lets loose, the raised hair on his arms and the haunted look in his eyes makes Angel pull Sam's head down onto his chest to try and calm the accelerated heart beat he can hear.

Sam shakes himself and smiles up at Angel, "So, you decided to fight the good fight?"

Angel let's the change in subject slide, for now, "Uhuh."

"And..."

Angel lets out an infectious laugh, "And, it's been a hell of a ride! Not too much to tell. Met a Slayer, slept with a slayer, lost my soul, got it forcibly shoved back up my ass by the cutest and most devious redhead I've ever met, and went on to become the head of an evil law firm before bringing their world down around their ears."

The incredulous look on Sam's face is too much for Angel and he decides maybe a little more detail might be in order, "Okay, okay. The Slayer, have you heard of a Slayer?"

"Vaguely, Dad mentioned one in his journal, but not in much detail."

"A slayer, or Vampire Slayer, yes I know, I slept with a vampire slayer, moving on...A slayer is born to a gift that can't be returned or exchanged for store credit. She's destined to fight the hoards of evil that roam the earth. When one dies, another is chosen. The one I fell in love with, again, don't give me that look...the one I fell for was called Buffy."

Sam's eyebrows knit as he tries to come up with a polite way to ask, "Is that even a real..."

Angel smirks and remembers the look on his own face when Whistler had told him the Slayer's name, "...name, yes. She was, despite the very air-head moniker, a highly trained, kick ass, gorgeous woman. Or she turned into one at least. Slayers have a short life span, the very nature of their birth right means early death for them."

Sam snorts and grimaces, "Know that feeling."

"I'm assuming hunters don't have a long shelf life either then..."

"Mostly no, the oldest one we ever knew passed away last year, and he went down fighting. But I can understand the 'not long for this world' scenario. We die quick and we die bloody. Not the best way to be raised, gotta say."

"You were raised in the life?"

Sam settles his head into the cradle of Angel's broad chest and nods, "Yep, sucked ass most the time, but I learned to embrace the finer points. Learning how to shoot a gun with both hands tied behind my back was a highlight."

Angel ruminates on the image of Sam, bound and possibly gagged, and feels his cock twitch.

Sam watches as the covers begin to tent above Angel's crotch and allows himself a smug little smile, "I take it the thought of me with my hands tied is interesting to you..."

Angel runs a hand through Sam's hair, "You have no idea. Vampires, through no fault of their own, have a bit of a kinky side. I think you may have just ticked a couple of boxes."

Sam suddenly finds himself repulsed, not because of Angel, not because the memory of Angel buried inside him isn't making his own cock swell, but because Angel's words bring forth images of Benny and Dean, doing things he's had nightmares about for weeks.

Sam makes as if to stand and Angel tightens his grip, "What, what did I..."

Sam shakes his head and tries to twist out of Angel's arms, "Nothing, it's not you it's just...I shouldn't be here, I should be..."

Angel puts a finger under Sam's chin and raises his face enough to reach out with his tongue and taste the stubble itching at his fingers, "Stop. We're not doing anything wrong, look Sam, Sammy..."

"Don't, don't call me that."

Angel's face softens, "Sorry. I should have remembered. I take it that's a name only Dean gets to use."

"He used to."

Angel lets the pad of his thumb brush the corner of Sam's mouth, "Can I ask you something?"

Sam settles back down onto Angel's chest, "That depends on whether or not you think I'm gonna give you an honest answer."

"Something tells me you're never intentionally dishonest Sam. Bare in mind I have no pre-judgement settings, I'm at best a contained walking sin, even with the soul, so I'm gonna ask you this, and I want you to remember I won't care what the answer is, I just think I need to know... Are you and Dean more?"

Sam fights the urge to run, "More than what..."

"More than brothers?"

"No."

"Sam..."

"I'm not lying."

Angel leans down and runs his tongue flat against Sam's collar bone, eliciting a stifled moan, "Then why can I taste the pair of you on your skin? Vampires have heightened senses remember, we can smell and taste things no other creature can."

Sam wills his heart rate back down, knowing Angel will be able to hear it, "I'm not lying, because we haven't been...not for a long time. More than a...oh god, more than a year."

Angel is amazed Sam's being this honest, but then again, a well placed tongue will always trump brains, "Why...why so long?"

"He was in purgatory. I didn't...I didn't look for him and he was there for a year. He met someone, a vampire."

Angel wonders if that's why Sam was so ready and yet so afraid earlier, revenge maybe, or payback, "A vampire...Like me?"

"No, our kind of vampire. Stakes won't kill him, and sunlight gives him a nasty tickle. Beheading is the only way to go."

"Judging by your tone, I'm assuming you've thought about doing just that."

Sam sighs and wills the tears not to come, "You have no idea. And no, before you ask, that's not the only reason I'm sat here. I just...it's been a long time since...I've missed the feel of having someone in my arms, " something occurs to Sam that should possibly freak him out but just leaves him curious, "How can you taste Dean on my skin, it's been over a year since we...and why aren't you running for the hills!"

Angel chuckles, fixes Sam with a very Angelus like stare and runs his fingers down Sam's cheek, "First of all, vampire, like I said, moral compass doesn't always point north, and secondly, technically, the way our bloodlines work, I've had sex with my mother, my daughter and my grandson. Little hard to wag a finger when you have that in the ex-files. And as for the 'tasting'...it's worked into your skin Sam, you could possibly never touch him like that ever again, and still have his scent all over you."

"That's just fucking unfair. He gets to run around with whatever creature of the night takes his fancy, never let me near him again, and I still end up branded by him. Fucking bastard!"

Angel cards his fingers through Sam's hair and scratches lightly at the younger man's scalp, and decides that maybe he should own up to at least a little of what he was thinking about earlier, "Sam, I knew you two had history. I could smell it, and I'd already kind of gathered that you'd let the cracks get wider than they should. Please don't take this the wrong way, but something told me you could really use a soft bed and a warm, or in my case cold, body. From what I've seen of you and Dean, you're not going to stay like this forever. I've lived a very long time and seen an array of relationships, yours is of the...permanent kind."

Sam allows himself the comfort of Angel's words, even if he doesn't believe them, "I used to think so."

"Trust me, not only is he sat in that motel room right now thinking about entertaining ways of making me into a pile of ash, but he's also wishing he'd never been so dumb as to take up with another creature. I know I would be."

"I abandoned him."

"And I bet you had your reasons, tell me he's never walked away from you in a time of need. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that you're here, he's not. I'm not saying you should go straight home and profess your undying love, but perhaps tonight might kick your jackass of a brother into realising what a fool he's being."

Sam laughs at the image of going down on bended knee in front of Dean, bunch of flowers and box of chocolates in hand, "I wouldn't know where to start with professing anything. He's made it plain he doesn't want me anymore."

Angel hears the ache in Sam's voice and wants to go and ring Dean's neck, "He's hurting Sam. He's also a complete jerk who's incapable of anything other than bullshit."

"Hey, that's still my brother you're talking about."

There's no real venom in Sam's words and Angel is amazed at his ability to still defend the man breaking his heart in two, "Sorry. I didn't mean to...Look, he's your mate Sam. I bet you've been dancing these steps for years haven't you? Push me pull you until one of you breaks a little bit. Just hang in there and don't walk back in that motel room and apologise for having a little well earned and needed fun, 'kay?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam's been fucked in every possible way, twice! He's walking down the street in the dawn mist, feeling well and truly used.

Used, abused and fairly bloody happy about it. It feels as though a weight's been lifted.

Angel may be a blood sucking creature of the night but he's also a damn good screw and Sam had needed to get laid so badly that he was beginning to have trouble walking straight.

Angel's also, much to Sam's surprise, a really good listener.

They'd sunk into each other over and over again and in between bouts of acrobatic sex they'd talked. About everything. Dean's demon deal, Angel's stint as Angelus in Sunnydale. Sam's burning need to make up for everything he did whilst soulless and Angel's appreciation for how hard it's been for Sam to work his way back into his own skin after his soul got shoved back inside.

Sam realises that he doesn't have that many friends that he can talk to about these things and thinks that perhaps, if Dean doesn't look like he'll string him up for suggesting it, that he would like to keep in contact with Angel once they've finished up here in L.A.

It was also a boon to realise that he isn't alone in thinking that Dean's being a douche over the whole purgatory thing.

Angel's right, he didn't look, but then again, Dean spent a year with Lisa not looking for him either, so fair's fair.

They need to get passed this because Sam isn't going to spend the next how ever long trying to make up for something they're both guilty of and he needs Dean back. As annoying as his big brother can be, and as all out angry as he makes Sam sometimes, he loves him, he needs him and he's not going to let Dean's ego and anger management issues ruin something they've fought their whole lives to keep going.

His heart a little less broken, Sam hums his way along the sidewalk back to the motel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean wakes to an empty room and a wretched feeling in his gut, "Shit."

He'd hoped Sam had sloped in during the early hours. He knows his brother, he very rarely stays out all night, only when the 'need' arises. Dean's not sure whether to weep or destroy the room.

He can't exactly go storming up to Angel and beat the crap out of him for deflowering his innocent baby brother. He's brought this on himself and he's going to have to find a way to deal. Doesn't mean he isn't imagining Angel's face breaking under his fist.

"No more man, no more bullshit."

Dean hears the lock click and goes for his glock, knowing it's probably Sam but resting on years of instinct.

"No more what?"

Sam slides into the room, looking, god help Dean, satisfied, and relaxed, and oh for...fucked. Well and truly fucked.

Dean has to grip the sheets between his fingers to stop from flying across the room and pinning Sam to the nearest flat surface. That's not gonna help right now. Seen as Sam's got the cat-that-ate-the-canary look on his face and is blatantly not in the mood for a row.

Dean's forgotten how gorgeous Sammy looks after a good all nighter and kicks himself, yet again, for letting the same old shit get in the way of what they are.

He hasn't gotten laid in weeks, not since he kicked Benny to the curb, and having Sam stood there, looking like he's been well and properly used, makes Dean's toes curl. How is this fair?

The little voice, that craptastically annoying guy in the back of his brain who always comes up with the worst possible idea, tells him it's because he went out and fucked the nearest undead dude and then rubbed it in Sam's face.

If he'd been honest in the first place this would never have happened.

Dean only acted like he'd carried on with Benny once he got back because his feelings had been hurt by Sam admitting he hadn't looked, but if Dean's truthful with himself, he understands why.

Sam's always aimed for normal and the 'Sam and Dean Show' has never ever been normal.

Staying with Amelia probably stopped Sam from pining about the fact that the reason they go coo coo for cocoa puffs every time one of them ends up down south is because they have a dangerously sadistic codependency issue, not withstanding the fact they fuck each other up, literally sometimes.

"Nothing. Good night, get much work done?"

Dean can't keep the sarcasm out of his voice, he's hurting and he wants Sam to know it.

Judging by the smirk on Sam's face, Sam knows all too well how bad last night was for Dean. In Sam's defence, Dean would probably refuse to acknowledge that little fact out loud as well though.

"Not bad, worked out a few kinks."

Asshole.

Dean's tossing up between breaking Sam's face and kissing him until he can't see straight.

Neither one wins out, instead he simply rises and heads for the bathroom, hoping that Sam can't see how close to tears he really is.

As Dean slams the bathroom door, Sam shouts that they really should try and gank the Blaylock demon tonight, or they'll end up staying in L.A for the whole week.

Dean decides that he is, come hell or high water, gonna get Sam away from Angel before the week's out, so the only right and just course of action would be to go out and kill himself a demon.

"We ain't staying here the rest of the week Sam. Tonight it dies."

Sam listens to the water start up and thanks whoever is looking out for him that he has the brass neck to front this one out.

Walking in the room, Sam had wanted to throw himself into Dean's arms, despite the extremely good and acrobatic sex of only a few hours ago.

He can hear Angel telling him, not for the first time last night, that he needs to take what he wants if he wants to keep it.

For a vampire the man is bloody perceptive, and he's got Dean figured out.

Sam smirks at the idea of Dean hearing that little piece of information.

After they'd finished, relaxed and chatted a little, after sleep, Angel had gripped the back of Sam's head, made him really look at the vampire and told him that if he wants Dean back, he's going to have to not only play him at his own game, but stop acting like the damsel.

Dean needs to know that the possibility of losing Sam for good is an option if he doesn't suck it up and stop acting like a dick.

Angel's right.

Sam's spent so long trying to apologise for leaving Dean somewhere heinous, that he's lost sight of the fact that they were an equal partnership. Now Dean thinks he's in the right and Sam should bow down no matter what.

Hell fucking no. Not any more.

The severe case of blue balls being lifted has given Sam a moment of clarity.

Dean needs to realise that this isn't to be taken for granted. Sam may never walk away, but Dean needs to understand that he doesn't have the right to assume that's so.

Waiting for Dean to finish up in the shower, Sam gathers his stuff and fires up his laptop.

Checking the sites from last night's search, Sam notices that Dean's mail is still open.

'Garth, dude, this is ridiculous, I'm gonna go kill me a vampire...'

Huh?

Sam scans down the e-mail and finds himself grinning like an idiot. Well it's about fucking time.

'Garth, dude, this is ridiculous, I'm gonna go kill me a vampire...

Sam's out with Angel doing god only knows what, and I do not wanna think about it. I'm having real fucking issues here man.

This is all my own fault, what am I supposed to do? I can't just walk in and tell him he's mine and he needs to stop fucking some undead prick.

He's mine damn it! Mine!

And don't you dare! I know this is literally my own fault, but how do I fix this? I should never have pretended I'd kept it going with Benny...

Garth, if you repeat this to anyone I'll hunt you down but...wow, too much whiskey, loose lips sink ships and all...

I need Sammy. I need him back.

Sorry about this man, I don't have anyone else to rant at and I'm just about holding it together here.

Hope you and Kevin are doing okay, let us know if you decipher anything off that ugly assed piece of brick dust.

Dean.'

Well hell!

Angel had been right, not that Sam really doubted the vampire's summation of the situation, but Sam's been sat here watching Dean hate him for long enough to start to lose hope, "Huh!"

Sam quickly shuts down Dean's mail client as the water turns off.

Leaning back in the chair, waiting for Dean to exit the bathroom, Sam imagines Dean in their, covered in soap, taking himself in hand and beating out his frustrations. Dean's always been a hormonal guy when it comes to anger. Best form of excising his personal demons, orgasm and alcohol.

Sam feels himself harden at the thought of watching Dean run his hands along his cock and shakes himself, determined not to just 'blow his payload' before he's made Dean see that it's not a one way street anymore.

Dean comes back into the room, towel knotted at his waist, water droplets still clinging to his eyelashes, and Sam rushes passed him quickly enough for Dean to not see the evidence of Sam's musings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Baby, I'm back!"

Spike walks into the penthouse and instantly senses that Angel wasn't alone over the weekend. Peaches still has it in him huh, or in some other poor sucker.

"Oi, pillock face, where you at?"

The answering call comes from the kitchen and Spike dumps his duffel and heads in that direction, "Morning sunshine. Get lucky did we?"

Angel sweeps Spike up in his arms and licks the length of his neck, "No more than you Blondie. Good time?"

"Yeah, not quite as bendy as I'd hoped but it'll do. So, who's the unlucky idiot?"

Angel looks sheepish for a moment and Spike grimaces, "Please tell me you didn't hump that overbearing panty waist we met last week?"

Angel grins and shakes his head, "No, his brother."

Spike snags the mug of blood from Angel's hands and screws up his face in concentration, "What, the tall drink of fuckable, long hair, nice tight arse?"

Angel shoots Spike a smug smile and steals his breakfast back, "That'd be the one."

Nodding in appreciation, Spike sheds his jacket and slots his hands down the back of Angel's trousers, "Nice! He any good?"

"You have no idea. Anyway, I was simply doing the man a service."

Spike nibbles at the nape of Angel's neck, "How so?"

Angel rolls his neck, enjoys the familiar feeling of teeth across skin, "His brother needed a wake up call. You fancy coming out and killing something tonight?"

Spike tries to puzzle out Angel's cryptic explanation and smirks, "When have I ever passed up the opportunity to kick the spit out of something?"

Angel turns in Spike's arms and lets the younger vampire push him towards their bedroom, "True."


	3. Chapter 3

"Suck it up Dean, this thing's gonna be a bitch to off as it is. Having those two in tow will just make it that much easier. What's your problem anyway? Cas told you they were on the up and up."

"My problem, my problem," Dean stands away from the wall he's been leaning against and scowling for the last twenty minutes, "my problem, baby brother, is that they may have souls but they're still blood sucking undead asshats!"

Sam sighs and shakes his head at Dean, "Look, just because your feelings are hurt that doesn't mean you can act like a little..." Sam sees his mistake a second too late and clamps his mouth shut, grinding his teeth and hoping Dean will let it go.

No such luck.

Dean's eyes narrow and he stalks forward, getting right up in Sam's face, "Act like a little what? Come on Sammy, what am I acting like!"

Sam raises an eyebrow and debates whether or not to push his luck any further today. He's already pushed every single one of Dean's buttons and some Sam's sure his brother didn't even know he had, not until Sam had come home looking like he'd been fucked six ways from Sunday and smiling like a fox in a henhouse.

Sam's brave, he ain't stupid and he thinks Dean might just snap if he winds him up much more, "This isn't the time or the place Dean."

Dean tilts his head and Sam can see the hurt shining behind the anger in his eyes, "No? When is the right time Sammy?"

Sam doesn't miss that Dean's started using his childhood nickname again. It's been a while since Dean's called his brother anything but Sam or 'Oi You', that's something at least, but Sam's not in the mood to pander to Dean's ego and they're about to have company.

It's not like Dean doesn't deserve to suffer a little bit, "When we aren't about to go on a hunt, and especially not when we've got company coming."

Dean wills his temper back down below boiling point. He's not gonna get anywhere with Sam like this, and he's pretty sure Sam's not above cutting out all vocal responses if it means not getting into another argument, and that will just royally fuck him off!.

Dean decides a different approach may be best, "Sammy, we need to talk about this, I mean," he leans in, raises a hand as if to stroke Sam's cheek and freezes, "What is that!"

Oh crap!

Sam's managed to keep his throat covered most the day; high collared sweatshirt and hoody, making sure his hair is hanging 'just so' down his back, turning away at the right moments.

Sam knew he wasn't gonna be able to hide the bite mark for long, but he did want to make it through this hunt before Dean blew his stack, "Listen Dean, calm down, I..."

Dean loses all sense and reason and palm punches Sam in the chest, slamming him against the grimy bricks behind him, only vaguely caring about the sound Sam's skull makes as it comes into contact with the wall, "Calm down calm down! You let some undead scab sink his fangs into your neck and you're telling me to CALM DOWN!"

Dean pins Sam against the bricks, hands either side of his head, face so close Sam can feel the heat from Dean's breath wafting across the twin puncture marks, "You've got some nerve you fucking hypocrite, how many times did you let Benny use you as a blood donor in purgatory! For all I know you've been sneaking out and baring your neck to him every chance you get."

Dean bites back the shitty remark he was about to make and shoots for honest. Angry, but honest, "I haven't seen Benny like that since I got back you bloody moron!"

"Yea right, you've seen him, I know you've seen him and you haven't been dipping it with me, so where have you Dean? Cos you aren't capable of going more than three days without fucking something!"

Dean's about to start swinging when someone clears their throat.

"Are we interrupting?"

Sam sees Spike creep out of the shadows, swiftly followed by Angel.

Despite the fact that Sam's inches away from getting a bloody nose and split lip, he winks at Angel and smiles at Spike, "No, we're done," and Sam pushes away from the wall and passed Dean without a backwards glance.

Angel leans in close to Sam, hear's Dean's teeth grinding, and asks, "So, he noticed huh?"

Sam grabs Spike's open palm and chest bumps the younger vampire while smirking at Angel over the blonde's shoulder, "Hard not to really."

Dean's about to kill something. He's not sure if it's gonna be human or vampire but he's gonna drop some sucker in a minute he's that angry, "Sam, this isn't over!"

Sam sneers at Dean over his shoulder, "It is for now, you coming or what!"

Sam and Angel head out of the alleyway, heads close enough that Dean can't figure out if they're talking or kissing.

Angel halts Sam with a hand to the shoulder and turns back to Spike, "You coming Peroxide Pete?"

Spike gives Angel a look that says I take it this little spat is your fault before waving his Sire away and turning to Dean, "Look fella, stow it, we've got a job to do. You can beat the crap out of Peaches later."

Dean decides maybe the blonde vampire isn't quite so bad, despite his lack of heartbeat and taste in ass.

Dean takes a cleansing breath and tries really hard to ignore Angel's hand resting on Sam's shoulder as they walk out of the mouth of the alley, "Come on then, before I try and figure out how to make wooden bullets."

Spike smirks, shoves his hands in his pockets and follows a few steps behind Dean, "It's been tried. You've got to be a bloody awesome shot."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike's holding his sides, having real issues staying upright and laughing so loud that even Dean's cracking a smile, "You look like you went ten rounds with a squid!"

Angel's covered in grey-green goo, clothes drenched, perfectly gelled hair dripping, and he's moments away from flattening his mate, "Back off Spike or I'll come over there and slide up against your leather duster!"

Spike's face goes dead pan, "Sorry Peaches, want me to make an emergency hair products run?" His voice hitches on the last word and he snorts and has to lean against the wall to stop himself falling over.

Dean's spent the entire night, even when he was ass deep in demon guts, thinking up amusing ways to shank Angel, but watching him try and wipe the preternaturally sticky viscera out of his hair is going a little way to easing Dean's need for violence.

That and Sam can't take chunks out of his hide for ripping into Angel when the younger vampire is stealing all of Dean's lines.

Sam keeps looking from Spike to Angel, smile dancing across his lips, "I'm not sure you're meant to wear the thing's insides, or is that a new and improved method of hunting?"

Angel turns, gives Sam what Dean thinks is meant to be a 'come-hither' look but it's ruined by the pieces of the recently deceased Blaylock Demon dripping off his ear.

Despite the state of Angel dampening Dean's temper a little, Spike can see that he's really very close to losing it still. Each time Angel makes goo-goo eyes at the brunette hunter, the vein in Dean's forehead nearly pulses right out from under his skin, and Spike thinks it might be in his Sire's best interest to get him the hell out of here before the older of the Winchester's starts staking first and apologizing later.

Angel's about to say something to Sam when Spike hooks a finger in his collar, "Come on old man, let's get you cleaned up. I'm coming no where near you until you've hosed down. Twice."

Angel turns to Spike and snarls, "I see. I still scrubbed your back after you got covered in that Water Sprite's innards, but you're gonna cut me off until I'm squeaky clean. How's that fair?"

Spike uses the tips of his index fingers, not willing to get anything else covered in the foul smelling substance dripping off of Angel, and shoves him towards the car, "That's cos you just can't keep your undead cradle robbing hands to yourself."

Spike smirks over his shoulder at Dean and winks before bodily shoving Angel into the passenger seat of his car, "Bye boys, thanks for the assist! Don't feel you have to look us up next time you're in town."

Sam watches Spike and Angel drive away and thinks that even if Dean's willing to kill him every time he mentions it, he's gonna keep in contact with the pair. They're running low on allies as it is, they can't afford not to keep hold of the new ones they make.

Plus, if he and Dean ever end up working out their fucked up relationship, it might help to remind his brother that Sam isn't always just gonna be there if Dean can't stop treating him like a spare part.

Sam can feel the murderous thoughts rolling off of Dean from across the street and wonders whether going back to the motel is such a good idea right now. Sam knows they have to hash this out, but he's tired, achy, covered in god knows what and just wants a drink, "I'm going to find a bar. Don't wait up."

Sam manages two steps before he feels Dean's hands slam down on his shoulders and drag him backwards, "Wha...get the fuck off me."

Dean's face is twisted with rage, his eyes have barely any colour in them and his lips are drawn back across his teeth, "What the fuck did you think you were doing with that...that...thing!"

Sam spins on the spot, knocks Dean's hands away from his shoulders and lands a punch that rattles the older man's teeth and tears a chunk out of Sam's knuckles, "You have got to be kidding me. You've got the brass fucking balls to call him a thing after you spent a year grabbing ankle for Benny!"

Dean rubs a hand across his jaw and lunges at Sam, "And why, why did I have to spend a year with Benny? Tell me exactly why and I'll tell you why you have no god damned right to judge me for it!"

Dean's got his fingers curled in Sam's shirt and is hauling him down to his height when Sam head butts him, cracking Dean's nose and making his eyes water. Dean stumbles back on his heels, puts a hand to his face and comes away with a palm full of blood.

Sam yanks his jacket straight and turns his back on Dean, "I didn't look for you for the same amount of time you didn't look for me when you were shacked up with Lisa and Ben. While you thought I was burning in hell. So you can go fuck yourself Dean."

Dean knows he should let Sam walk away before they kill each other, but he's sick of Sam walking away and he's sick of letting things slide, "Is that why you let Angel sink his teeth in, 'cos you know what it's like to be a soulless douche!"

Sam freezes, foot halfway to the floor, shoulders ramrod straight. Spinning slowly he gives Dean a look that tells him he may just have crossed that invisible line neither one of them has ever chanced, "Is that what you think? That I enjoyed being soulless. That once I was back in my own head I played through the memories you tried to wall up and I liked what I saw!"

Dean's on the verge of shaking Sam, shaking him until his one idiotic brain cell falls out of his ear. How can he not see that the reason Dean's so angry is because he doesn't know how to tell his baby brother that he was wrong, has been wrong for weeks! Fuck weeks, Dean's been wrong for years. Every chance he's been given to show Sam that he truly believes in him, he's underestimated Sam so badly that he's forced him into screwing up.

Taking great heaving breaths, digging his nails into his palms, Sam feels the last ounce of his resolve snap like a cracked whip.

Neither one of them wants this fight.

Sam simply wants Dean to own up to his mistakes and stop treating him like a fucking liability.

Dean wants Sam to look past the hostility to what's really buried there. Love, and fear of losing that love.

A sudden thought rocks Sam back on his heels, "Wait, is that what you really...Do you really think that, that I wanted to be a soulless robot? Is that how little you think of me? I thought you knew me better. Even with all the dumb shit I've pulled over the years...I thought you knew...."

His face crumples, his shoulder's slump and Dean sees the minute Sam gives in, gives up, on him and possibly on himself.

Sam's face is completely blank, his heart is beating so hard he thinks it might beat a hole through his ribcage. If that's really what Dean thinks of him, no wonder his brother hasn't touched him since he got back from purgatory. Did he always think that, even after he'd shoved Sam's soul back and nearly killed him...

Dean's eyes fill with angry tears at Sam's willingness to believe that Dean thinks so little of him, even though Dean's never really shown him any different, "Sammy no, I..." Dean can see Sam replaying every awful thing Dean's ever thrown at him. Words sharp enough to slice bone, words that Dean never ever meant but was either too scared or too angry to know how to take them back, "Please I didn't mean, look I just..."

It's too late, Sam's retreating inside his memories, inside years of feeling unclean and unworthy. Three decades of listening to first their father and then Dean himself saying things out loud that Sam has always thought about himself in the dead of night when no one's been around to argue the toss.

Sam's voice is so small, so hollow, Dean almost doesn't hear him, "I can't do this anymore Dean."

Sam refuses to make eye contact, knowing that if he looks up and sees the reality of what he thinks Dean's been feeling about him for the last however many years, Sam will end up on the floor rocking back and forward, just like all those nights alone in the asylum.

Instead Sam does the only thing he can. He runs.

"Wait, don't..." But Dean's talking to thin air, Sam's already halfway down the street, pounding pavement like he's got hellhounds snapping at his heels, "Shit!"

The look in Sam's eyes before he'd turned away is sending goose bumps chasing shivers down Dean's arms. What did he mean he can't do this anymore?

Every fibre in Dean's body is screaming at him to chase Sam down, force him to listen and force himself to stop being a prize prick and tell Sammy the truth, but Dean's feet are lead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam's not sure where to go or what to do but he knows he can't be anywhere near Dean.

As he coaxes as much speed from his burning limbs as he can manage, Sam realises that if Dean, the one person on the whole stinking planet that he can't live without, thinks he's that much of a lost cause then he really doesn't have a reason to carry on.

Mind forming crazy half ideas, Sam feels the muzzle of his gun pressing against his hip and makes a decision that's been riding the outskirts of his thoughts for years, but Sam's never been brave enough or desperate enough to take it before now.

Memory turning over all those times that Dean's gotten right up in his face and told him in no uncertain terms what a complete failure he is, Sam stops dead, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Sam can't breath, he physically can't pull down a lung full of air.

Curling in on himself, Sam has to grip the tops of his thighs to stop from hitting the blacktop.

Dean, explaining what Dad wanted him to do if he couldn't save Sam.  
Dean, giving him 'that' look after he'd shot Jake.  
Dean, telling him if he didn't know him, he'd want to hunt him.  
Dean, shouting that they can never be the same again, that he doesn't know how to trust him anymore.

Sam closes his eyes in a futile attempt to block out all the hateful words and heart rending memories and has a moment of complete clarity. A spark of light in all the darkness.

He knows what he has to do, what's right. What will fix it all.

Straightening, mind blessedly free of anything other than the salvation he can see in the distance, Sam starts running again, and for once he's running towards something.

Hoping Dean's decided to go blow off steam in the nearest bar, Sam turns in the direction of their motel room.

All he needs is ten minutes alone and he can end all the uncertainty and pain.

How many times over the years has Sam thought maybe he could take the problem out of his brother's hands? One quick squeeze of a finger and Dean'd never have to clean up another one of his messes.

The only thing that had stopped him was the knowledge that Dean, no matter how many times Sam fucked up, loved him, more than any one else, more than all the nameless girls and faceless men. More than himself.

Sam thinks perhaps he should've done this when he found out he was meant to go dark side. When Dean had confessed to their Dad's fears and forced promises. He'd put a gun in Dean's hand enough times. Begged him to end it. Begged Dean to stop him before he did something he couldn't take back or fix.

Dean had refused every time and Sam had taken that as a sign that no matter the circumstance, Dean would always, always believe in him.

Finding out the other half of your heart actually thinks you're an evil that needs stopping is surreal, surreal and painful and everything Sam had hoped never to know for sure.

Seeing the parking lot of the motel cresting the horizon, Sam pumps his arms and legs, forces his aching body forward.

He slams into the room, not bothered by locks and keys, and starts rifling round in his bag for a notepad.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean rounds the corner to their motel and automatically scans the lot for Baby. He hadn't expected not to see her chrome rims and satin bodywork, it's just a habit he's become used to if he hasn't been driving her.

When his eyes land on the patch of tarmac where she should be, his heart rate ramps up to somewhere in the region of heart attack country.

He rifles around in his pockets for the keys, knowing it's useless but hoping his fingers will find the cold metal of her key fob. Not that it'll matter, there's no ignition to slot them in, which would mean, even if he does find them buried in amongst the lint, that Sam's hot wired her.

His first instinct is anger. White hot rage that his brother has had the cast iron jewels to steal his fucking car.

His second instinct is so much more unsettling.

Why has Sam stolen her?

His overtaxed brain is coming up with excuses even as he walks towards the door of their room. Dean's hoping that Sam's curled up under the covers and has no clue the car's gone. That would at least mean he wouldn't have to kill him for taking Dean's prized possession.

It would also mean that Sam hasn't run off to do something that has Dean's palms sweating so badly he can't get a grip the room key.

'I can't do this anymore Dean'

"Please be here Sammy, please!"

Dean finally manages to get the right end of the key up against the tumbler but the door swings inwards before he's slotted it into place.

His hunter's instincts cut in and he whips his gun from the waistband of his jeans. Gauntlet-ing the butt of his gun in his left hand, he shoulders the door all the way open, "Sam!"

Nothing, no sound, no light, no Sam scented aftershave, "Crap!"

It's okay, he's just gone for a drive, just needs to blow off steam, he just doesn't want to see anyone right now.. He's not that stupid, he's not...Oh god.

Flicking the lights on, Dean has to grab the wall to stop the waves of nausea from dropping him. Scanning the room, he spots Sam's laptop on the table and lunges for it.

GPS, he can activate the GPS in Sam's phone.

He's half way through the log in screen when he sees a folded piece of paper resting against his pillow and nearly blows chunks across the room, "No, Sammy..."

Moving on shaking legs, Dean reaches for the note, not sure he has the strength to open it. Picking it up between thumb and forefinger, treating it like a bomb about to go off, Dean sinks onto the bed, runs a hand across his face and takes a few steadying breaths.

'Dean,

I'm sorry. I really am.

I used to think that we were... that we could do anything, be anything, as long as we did it together.

Then, when you came back this last time, when you blatantly didn't think there was an 'us' anymore, I thought I could keep at it until we put the wheels back on.

Turns out there's nothing left to fix. And I can't keep doing this knowing that you think I'm so lost, so off the reservation.

Just so you know, I'm not. Haven't been for a long time.

I took what you taught me and I came through it, you just never noticed. Too busy treating me like your screw up kid brother.

I think maybe I should have done this a long time ago. Back at the beginning when you first started giving me 'that' look. When I started to realise you were more afraid of me than you were the things we went out and killed every night.

So, I'm sorry, sorry for not realising sooner that you, and probably everyone else, would've been better off if I'd just called it a day when you told me what Dad warned you about.

Bye Dean.

I love you. Have always and will always.

Sammy.'

Hot tears are dripping off Dean's chin onto the hand written 'fuck you' that Sam's left him.

Seconds and Dean's on his feet, fighting the roiling snakes in his belly. His head's spinning so badly that he nearly crashes Sam's laptop onto the floor. Just catching it in time, Dean starts typing furiously and dragging his phone from his pocket, "Yes, hello, I need you to help me find my son."

Dean knows the very real panic in his voice will help him carry off the 'Worried Parent' shtick, but he's not sure if he's gonna be able to keep it together long enough not to scream down the phone at the very nice but very fucking slow tech support guy, "Yes, I'll hold, but please, hurry."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam finds himself driving through arid desert. He's gone far enough passed the city limits to be watching tumble weed roll along beside the car.

Thinking that maybe he shouldn't do this on the road, he scans the horizon for an outcropping of hills.

As he spots what he needs in the distance and turns off the main drag, Sam thinks perhaps this is the quietest his brain's been in a long time.

It's amazing the peace you find when you stop fighting.

He'd found it once before, when he'd made the final leap into the hellfire. When he'd thrown himself down in order to save the world, save humanity.

To save Dean

Dean.

Sam has some regrets. He regrets that Dean will have to carry on alone, but Sam supposes he won't be totally. He'll have Cas.

Sam hopes Cas will tell Dean to go fuck himself when he asks for a rewind on Sam's little pop and drop. If Castiel has any sense he'll tell Dean that Sam's done the right thing and to leave it alone. Surely the angel will be able to see that a world without Sam is a world with one less evil thing to hunt.

Pulling the car into the shadow of the hills, Sam lets the engine idle, lets the thrum of it vibrate through him. Remembering all the times she's sheltered him, sheltered them both.

He may never have had somewhere to call home, but he's never been homeless. She's always been there, ready to shield them from the rain and all the awful things that creep and crawl in the night.

Patting the wheel, letting the stitching snag against the calluses on his fingers, Sam taps the dash and silently thanks her for holding him up one last time.

Flicking his wrist he silences her purrs but leaves the keys in the ignition. Dean will need them when he eventually manages to catch up.

Sam exits the car, knowing that as much as he needs her support, he can't do that to Dean, not to his Baby.

He cracks his shoulders, rolls his neck and heads for a low slung set of boulders. Climbing up, scrabbling for hand and foot holds, Sam lets the memories battering at his mind come rushing over him.

'Dean's got a beer in his hand and they've closed a case, kind of, so why is his big brother close to tears? He's hiding it, but not well enough for Sam not to see. There isn't a single thing about Dean that Sam doesn't know.

"I just think we should take a break from all this. Why do we gotta get stuck with all the responsibility, you know? Why can't we live life a little bit?"

Sam gives him a funny look and leans against the railings, "Why are you saying all this?"

Dean shakes his head and turns away, turns away from the one person he thought he could say anything to.

Sam walks forward, raises a hand as if to pull Dean back, "No, no, no, no, Dean. You're my brother, all right? So whatever weight you're carrying, let me help a little bit."

Dean refuses to turn round, refuses to look Sam in the eye, "I can't. I promised."

Sam's confused look is wasted on Dean's back, "Who?"

Dean turns but still won't meet Sam's eyes, "Dad."

Now Sam's even more confused but Dean won't look at him and it's making him nervous. Dad didn't say anything before he died, Dean told him so, why would Dean lie? "What are you talking about?"

Dean looks at his feet, not able to deal with the look of hurt on Sam's face, "Right before Dad died, he told me something," Dean takes a deep breath, sighs and finally looks up at Sam, "He told me something about you."

Sam grinds his teeth as he tries to figure out what exactly their Dad would've said that Dean felt he needed to keep from him, "What? Dean, what did he tell you?"

Dean's face is a mask of hurt and something else...fear? "He said that he wanted me to watch out for you, to take care of you."

Sam's face breaks into a smirk, "He told you that a million times."

Dean shakes his head and screws his eyes shut, "No, this time was different. He said that I had to save you."

Sam thinks that perhaps Dean's taking this whole thing a little too seriously. They save each other on a daily basis, part and parcel of the job, "Save me from what?"

Dean can't meet his eyes again, "He just said that I had to save you, that nothing else mattered; and that if I couldn't, I'd..."

Sam's heart starts pumping quicker, his palms begin to sweat, "You'd what, Dean?"

The look on Dean's face makes Sam want to reach out and hold him. He looks like someone who's just been told they're terminal, "That I'd have to kill you. He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy." '

Sam's whole body goes rigid. Why, why would their Dad have said something like that! did he know, did he know what the demon had in store for him? Is he evil, is he....is he something they need to hunt! Did John Winchester know what Sam's always suspected, that he's unclean!

Sam straightens, watches the horizon starting to lighten behind him. Smiling at the un-spoilt beauty of it and feeling that this is the perfect time of day to be alone with his thoughts, Sam pulls the gun from his back pocket and sits on the flattest piece of rock he can find.

Laying the gun next to him, he steeples his fingers and rests his chin atop his joined hands.

Even before Lucifer, before the seals and Lillith and everything that's broken them over and over again, Dean had been willing to believe the worst of his baby brother.

'Sam's ready to jump Dean the minute Ruby leaves, but Bobby's there and as much as he's sure the old coot has figured out what's been going on with the brothers for the last few years, Sam's fairly certain Bobby would bang their heads together if they started making out in front of him.

Dean's looking at Sam like he's grown an extra head, "That's not funny, Sam. To bring me back. What'd it cost? Was it just your soul, or was it something worse?"

Oh, right, of course. Of course Dean would think that, "You think I made a deal?"

Dean opens his mouth but Bobby beats him to it, "That's exactly what we think."

God, not Bobby too. Sam's used to Dean looking down his nose at him, but he thought Bobby had a better handle on who Sam really is, "Well, I didn't."

Dean doesn't buy it, not for a minute. Sam can see that it's taking a great deal of control for his brother not to grab him and beat what he thinks is the 'truth' out of him, "Don't lie to me!"

Sam shakes his head and gives Dean a filthy look, "I'm not lying!"

Dean snaps, lunges away from the wall and stalks up to Sam, staring him right in the eyes, "So what now, I'm off the hook and you're on, is that it? You're some demon's bitch-boy? I didn't want to be saved like this!" '

Sam's tried over and over again to make up for the wrong roads taken, but Dean's never let him forget how badly he's screwed up and Sam now believes that Dean was right all along, that their Dad had been bang on the money.

'"Slippery slope, brother. Just wait and see. Because it's gonna get darker and darker, and God knows where it ends."

"It's already gone too far, Sam. If I didn't know you... I would want to hunt you!"

"Why did an angel tell me to stop you?"'

Memory after memory runs rough shod over him until Sam feels like he's drowning. Images of Dean disappointed. Dean scared. Dean angry enough to want to beat him to death.

DeanDeanDean!

Even when Sam had taken the wrong he'd done and sacrificed himself with it. Given himself over to the punishments he felt he deserved.

Sam slides a hand inside his jacket and pulls out his phone.

The phone that right now, Dean is more than likely tracking the GPS on. He can almost hear him, giving the guy at the tracking centre his best 'Worried Parent' speech.

He thumbs through the options, hits the icon for voicemail and puts it to his ear, "Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam -- a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back!"

Sam doesn't know why he's still got the years old message, why he's transferred it and saved it on every phone for the last four years, but he now knows that everything Dean said in that message is true.

It still hurts, still breaks him in ways he didn't know he could be, but it also proves once and for all that he's doing the right thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean's behind the wheel of the first car he could boost. It's not exactly the fastest piece of machinery in the world but Dean's not letting that stop him. The gears squeal every time he hits a corner at speed and he's ignoring the sound of the block practically rattling it's way out of the engine bay.

Right now a rocket ship wouldn't be fast enough, wouldn't put enough speed on his heels.

He doesn't know if he'll be in time but he knows he's got to try.

What was Sam thinking, how could he think...how could he even entertain the idea that Dean would want him dead!

The only thing that's stopped Dean taking the easy way out over the years is Sam. Sam's faith in him, Sam's faith in them!

Crunching through the gears, Dean fights the memories of all the times over those years that he's refused to return the favour.

How many times has he given Sam enough rope to hang himself with? How many times has he let Sam think that he's got a black heart because Dean hasn't been able to face up to how much of an idiot he's been. Dean is one of the many reason's that Sam took all those forks in the road. He pushed and pushed and pushed until Sam saw no other way out.

And now, now Dean's racing across desert to try and stop him from doing something that will have Dean following into the inky black.

If he doesn't make it, if he doesn't stop Sam from....god he can't even think the words without wanting to throw up!

If he doesn't get their in time, then Dean thinks he might just turn the gun on himself.

The GPS dot flashing on his phone is getting closer and closer and as Dean scans the horizon for Baby he almost has to pull over. He can't see properly. The image of Sam, back of his head gaping, gun dangling from his limp fingers, no life left in those gorgeous eyes of his, has Dean swallowing down mouthful after mouthful of bile.

Panting, breath coming in short sharp bursts, Dean's eyes frantically scan either side of the road for any sign of his baby's satin black paintwork.

As he crests the next hump in the road, Dean spots light reflecting off of something two hundred yards to the left.

Squinting and praying with every thing he has, Dean spots her tucked behind a set of hills and hauls the wheel sideways.

Careening to a stop, leaving the engine running, Dean throws himself from the car and runs round into the shadow of the hills and comes face to face with one of his worst nightmares.

It's the same scene he's been playing over in his mind since Sam took off on him in the street.

Except there's no blood, not yet, "Sammy! STOP!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam's finger is on the trigger, he's moments away from the rest he's been craving his entire life when he hears tyres on dirt, running footsteps and Dean's voice booming in his ears, "Sammy! STOP!"

Sam's hand shakes. A tiny tremor the only thing betraying that he knows he's no longer alone.

Eyes closed, Sam tilts his head, muzzle of the gun still pressed to his temple, and smiles the saddest smile Dean's ever seen on his baby brother's face.

Dean can't breath, can't think, can't move as he watches Sam squeeze the trigger, "NO! Please, Sammy, don't do this...I.."

Sam lets off the tension just a little, lets the trigger click back into place, but he doesn't remove his finger, doesn't un-cock the gun and he doesn't open his eyes, "Dean. You shouldn't be here."

The already dead tone in Sam's voice almost crumples Dean. His knees start to shake, his whole body vibrates with a feral need to rip the gun from Sam's hand, but he's afraid to move, afraid to push, "Please, Sammy, listen I need to, we need to..."

Sam opens his eyes and levels his gaze at Dean, and what Dean sees there has his heart in his throat and he doesn't care how ridiculous he looks, he finally lets his shaking legs buckle and falls to his knees under the weight of all the pain shining out at him.

"Dean, please, just...walk away."

On his knees in the dirt, hands raised to heaven, a heaven that's been mainly vacant of any grace for a very long time, Dean drops every guard he has. Every wall surrounding his heart and his mind. Let's the love and fear and unadulterated need flash back at Sam, "No. I won't, I can't. Sam this is....you have to stop and listen. I know I've said some shit, know I've broken your heart more times than I is healthy or right, but please. Listen to me, let me explain. You can't you just can't!"

Sam's vision recedes. His eyes narrow and his brain offers up an image of Dean, 22 years old, begging for him to rethink his move to Stanford, pleading with Sam not to leave him. It's the only time he'd ever seen such raw openness on his big brother's face, and he remembers how painful it was to watch Dean fade into the distance from the back window of that bus. He thinks maybe that was when the cracks first appeared. When Dean eventually agreed that they'd try to hold it together even though Sam could see the betrayal in his eyes.

Sam scrunches up his nose and Dean's struck with an uncontrollable and ridiculous urge to kiss the end of it. It's Sam's 'thinking' face. It's the same look he's worn for the last 30 years. Every time he's been concentrating on anything. From lore books to learning to toddle. That look brings into sharp relief what Dean's about to lose if he doesn't pull it out of his ass.

Dean crawls forward, still on bended knee, not ashamed in the slightest that to anyone else he looks like he's begging for scraps, "Sammy, brother..baby boy don't do this. I....I'm sorry. I should've said that so many times already. So many times it was resting on the end of my tongue and my pride stopped it. Stopped me."

Sam feels his heart pump once. A painful lung crushing thump behind his ribs, and his hand shakes again, shakes enough to dig the muzzle of his glock into his flesh, "Dean...I...you, you don't mean that, I'm a thing. I just need to,"

Dean still wants to tackle his brother to the ground but can't see a way that that won't end in his own heart being ripped from his chest, "No, you don't! You're not. You're no more a thing than I am."

"You, the sword of Michael, the saviour of the world? The man who fought his way through hell and purgatory, a thing. No, Dean, you're the best of us both. You're the best of any of us. Me...I'm...I'm the one who keeps trying to end the world, remember. I break everything I touch. I broke Dad, I've broken you over and over. I broke Mom."

Sam's voice catches on 'Mom' and Dean doesn't even think, just acts. He scrambles off his knees and up the side of the boulder to crouch in front of his brother, "No! That wasn't you. You didn't pick to be Yellow eye's bitch. That was done to you," Dean raises a hand as if to touch Sam. When Sam doesn't flinch, doesn't try and crawl away, Dean lets his fingers brush against Sam's knee, "Please Sammy. Please try and remember. I know I haven't given you much to go on these last few years, but we've been shit up against it. Backs to the wall, and you know me, I mean you're the only one who knows me. I don't do well under pressure, I fight and I fuck it up. I lash out at those around me. Hell I've been knee deep in so much crap and the only person offering me a rope was you and still I almost ripped your arm off. But I didn't mean it. Any of it."

Sam can't stop himself from leaning into Dean's touch. His brother's hand is warm on his oh so cold knee, and it sparks a memory that's been buried deep for so long that Sam'd forgotten he even had it.

'Sam's sat in the back of the Impala, Dad railing at him for wanting to leave, wanting to up sticks and fuck off to some college and leave him and his brother with all the hunting and all the responsibility. Sam's seconds away from reaching over the head rest and strangling his father, for the awful awful things he's saying, when he feels Dean's hand on his ankle from the front seat.

Dean's snaked his arm between the door and the seat and is rubbing soothing circles on Sam's ankle with the underside of his thumb, and he's eyeing his father like he wants to kill him himself, "Dad, stop!. Just stop. Sam's allowed a life. He's allowed to try and find something other than this. Mum never would have wanted..."

John looks at his oldest like he's gonna rip his tongue from his mouth, "Don't you dare. Don't you dare talk to me about Mary, your mother would have, she would have....this is our fight Dean and Sam's just gonna walk away from it, from her memory!"

Dean keeps one hidden hand on Sam's ankle and leans forward, right into John's face, close enough to head butt him if he doesn't see reason, "She was our mother. We have just as much right to this anger as you, and if Sam can see his way passed that anger to try and find a better way of living, then no one, not me and definitely not you, has the right to tell him not to. He's got a full ride. Any normal father would be chuffed to nuts that their son is clever enough to make it into a college that good."

John's eyes narrow but his anger recedes a tiny bit. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he turns to Sam, "I don't like it and I'm not gonna come wave you off. But if you want to go find your rainbow, then fucking go. But don't expect postcards."

John throws the door open and stalks off into the night, leaving both his boys thinking that it may not be a win, but it's better than a loss.'

Two days later, John's anger had gotten the best of him and he'd told Sam never to come back, never to darken his door again. But Dean had, for once, gone up against the man he thought walked on water. And he'd done it for Sam.

Dean sees Sam zone out again, off into his own little world and the panic he's barely been keeping at bay comes crashing down on his head. He's about to say something, anything, when Sam smiles. Not a dead, flaccid 'I'm done with this crap' smile, but a real one. One that reaches his eyes, fills his face with something other than pain, and Dean feels his heart start to beat for the first time since he came round the side of that rock, "Sammy? What..."

Sam turns to Dean, looks him flat in the face and lowers the gun.

He doesn't drop it, doesn't let it go, but he doesn't struggle when Dean reaches out with shaking hands and pries it from Sam's fingers, "Let me...Sam, let me have it."

"You...you love me...."

Dean has the gun un-cocked and safetey'd before he gives Sam an incredulous look, "What the hell do you think I've been trying to tell you! Sammy I haven't ever not loved you," He shakes his head and sighs, finally able to expand his lungs properly, "We fight Sam. Each other and everything else. It's what we do."

Sam closes his eyes and lets the tears that have been threatening since last night fall unchecked down his cheeks, "But you said...you've been saying for years. With and without words Dean. You always made me feel like you couldn't...like you thought...I'm a thing. An evil thing."

Dean looks at the gun in his hands and back up to Sam's tear stained face and stands, taps Sam on the shoulder, makes sure he's watching, and hefts the gun as far as he can. Dean rolls his arm right back and flings it as far out into the desert as he can manage, before turning and sitting back down next to his brother.

"Wha...that's my gun."

Dean grips Sam's shoulders, digs his nails in hard enough to leave small spots of blood blooming beneath Sam's shirt and shakes him, hard, "Not any more. I never want to see that gun again."

Dean crushes Sam to his chest, wraps his arms round him tight, so very tight, replaying the image of Sam, gun to temple, look of desolation on his face, and lets one harsh sob escape his lips, "You are not evil, not even close. I'm so sorry Sam, I'm so..."

Dean's having trouble forming words. Now the immediate danger of Sam taking his heart and ripping it in two is passed, now he has a broken brother and a life time's worth of horrendous things to make up for, Dean can't see passed the man in his arms. The man he almost lost through sheer stupidity and forced bravado. Through years of Sam taking the wrong road and Dean being too up his own ass to go and fetch him back. Never again, never again will he let Sam think that he doesn't rank above every thing else in the world. He is the only thing. The only thing.

Sam allows himself to be squeezed, allows his brother to practically strip skin from bone as he holds him closer than he ever has before, "Dean I...I'm not okay. This isn't okay, we're not..."

Dean nods in Sam's hair, "I know. Sammy I know. I've got a lot of...we've got a lot of things to work out, but I need you to understand, need you to hear me. There isn't a single thing, living, dead, animal, vegetable or mineral that comes above you, above you and me. It was meant to be us," Dean pulls away, shakes Sam again, making Sam's empty stomach turn over on itself, "it was always meant to be us against the world. We let that slide. Well fuck that baby boy. We will fix this, 'kay?"

Sam lets Dean pull him back down off the boulder and back towards the car, fingers laced together, knuckles cracking and protesting against Dean's firm grip.

Sam revels in the pain of Dean refusing to relinquish his hold and nods, "Okay."


	5. Chapter 5

It's midday. Sam's asleep. Sam's been dead to the world since they came back in from the cold.

Dean shudders at the idea of Sammy dead to anything and shakes himself. He got there, it's fine. Okay it's not fine but he can see Sam's chest rising and falling beneath the covers and he's got a chance to try and make it right.

Dean hasn't been able to sleep. Hasn't been able to close his eyes without seeing Sam sat on that rock, gun in hand, flat look on his face. It's going to haunt him for a long time to come. There will be nights where he wakes up sweaty and shaking. He thinks that's the least he can put up with, the least of the punishment he should take for shoving Sam so close to the edge of oblivion.

Sam struggles with the covers wrapped round his legs and Dean smiles. Least now he can spend the rest of their live's, how ever long that may be, trying to make up for being the world's crappiest big brother.

Thing is though, he hasn't been just a big brother for a very long time and it's about bloody time Dean started manning up and acting the way he's meant to.

They may be a barrel full of fucked up but they are what they are and if Dean's going to mend anything he's going to have to figure out how to level with himself about their relationship.

Sam deserves that much at least. He's a therapist's dream in fees, but he's Dean's and Dean is Sam's. Nothing's gonna change that. Other people have come and gone. Most recently two very undead guys, but Sam and Dean always come back to each other. They might as well be on a pair of bungee ropes.

As Sam snuffles in his sleep, Dean realises that maybe they were never meant to be with anyone else. Their life is a whirlwind of screw ups and crazy, maybe this is whoever's in charge's way of letting them have something tangible. Something they can cling to in the darkest of times.

They know they were destined for heaven at some point, even though the angels and God must have seen them doing very un-brotherly things over the years. So Dean thinks that perhaps God isn't as judgemental as everyone reckons.

Whether they still have adjoining rooms upstairs is yet to be seen. Not because of what they are, but because Heaven isn't exactly the party palace any more.

Dean rises and crosses to Sam's bed, lowers himself as gently as possible onto the covers and runs a shaky hand through Sam's soft hair. Tucking a stray strand behind Sam's ear, Dean smiles down at the man who holds the key to his heart, to his soul too, because without Sam there would have been no Dean to keep on keeping on, "I'll show you Sammy, I promise I'll show you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam wakes at dusk, the change in light from the closed curtains finally filters through his sleep filled brain. Shaking himself, Sam pushes up on his hands and realises that Dean's not there. The motel room feels empty without him. It always has, different motels and towns, same affect. No Dean equals a slightly desolate feel to whatever crap-hole room they're occupying at the time.

He knows it's useless but calls out anyway, "Dean, you here?"

When he gets no reply, Sam decides maybe he should haul his butt out of bed and take a shower. It's been two days and lots of miles on the clock since he had a good scrub down. He probably smells like road kill.

Flinging his legs over the side of the bed, Sam wonders where Dean is. He knows he's not skipped out. That fun little feeling has, for now, subsided. Dean wouldn't walk his ass out the door after saving Sam from himself.

Scanning the room, Sam spots a post-it pinned to the door. Standing and stretching out his aching muscles, Sam crosses to it and peels it away from the wood.

Sammy,

Out for supplies. As cute as your baby face looks when snoring, I gotta get me some pie. Won't be long. Don't go anywhere, please.

D x

Sam chuckles and places the post-it in the side pocket of his duffel.

Dean rarely signs anything, let alone with a kiss. Sam's not chucking this one. It can go with the rest of his shmoopy collection of shit he's been carrying around in various pockets in various bags for the last hundred years.

Notes from Dean. The little plastic heart he jokingly gave him on valentines day a few years back. Some of the movie and gig ticket stubs they've been to on their 'off' days.

If Dean knew he'd probably....actually, Sam's not so sure anymore. There'd be definite teasing but Sam thinks Dean may let a few more things slide from now on.

Sam heads towards the bathroom, grabs his wash bag and hopes he can be clean and relaxed before big brother comes back. They really need to talk and Sam thinks that being naked and soapy will probably outweigh any 'chat' they need to have. Especially seen as Dean's not gotten any, if he's to be believed, since he got back from purgatory.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean slots the key in the lock and hears the telly blasting out some god awful trance tune. Sammy's awake then.

That boy's taste in music will forever baffle Dean. He's tried to educate him, he's tried to get him to see the beauty in power chords and guitar riffs that melt your face, and still Sam opts for synthesized shite over the greats.

"Honey I'm home."

Shouldering his way in, bags of groceries in both hands, Dean notes that Sam is fully dressed and smells fresher than when he'd last been within whiffing distance, "Up and around I see."

Sam, curled on the room's one ratty sofa, looks up and grins, "Yeah, I figured I should wash off the last two days worth of road dust and....well I needed a shower any way."

Dean grits his teeth against the reminder that it's not just road dust that Sam needed to wash off.

They still haven't spoken about Angel and Sam's little trip to 'Happy Meal' town. Dean was willing to let it go, but now Sam's clean and his hair is tied back in a rough pony tail, Dean can see the twin puncture marks on his throat and it's grating on his nerves.

Yes, he knows he should be thankful that that's the only injury Sam sustained in the last two days, but he still can't shift the image of Sam baring throat for a creature of the night out of his head. Despite his own previous experiences with the undead.

"Sammy, we need to..."

"...talk, yea I know."

Sam shifts sideways, clears enough space for Dean to sit down.

Dean looks at the space next to Sam, drops the bags and starts pacing the room, "No I'll stand, I can't..."

"Dean, come on, I thought we'd gotten passed this 'not being able to communicate' crap."

Dean shakes his head and grimaces, "We have, it's just...Look, I know that what happened out there," Dean shudders, Sam can see the effort it's taking for his brother to skim over it, "and what happened with Angel are partly my fault, but I can't...I can't just let it all go. We need to...I need to. Sammy what were you thinking?"

Sam works hard not to let his temper rise, "When? When I walked into a vampire's arms or when I walked out on you with a gun?"

It's harsh, it's fucking harsh, but Sam can't stop himself. He knows Dean feels like hammered crap for the things that lead to both of those events, but Sam's not passed being angry, not completely. And the hypocrisy of it, of all of it.

Dean's been on the verge of offing himself a couple of times. He was going to say 'Yes' to Michael. And Sam had to talk him down. He also let some undead suck head play with him for how ever long in purgatory. Dean's got no right to act the high and mighty one, not now, not ever. They have to get back to some semblance of equal if this is ever going to work.

Dean's face is almost funny. Almost. It's a mix of amusement and pride at the brass neck on his baby brother, and hurt at the clinical way in which Sam's describing fucking a vampire and then trying to blow his brains out, "Don't Sam. It's not...I know okay. I know it was six of one half a dozen of the other. We both deserve a good butt whooping for letting it get that bad, but it's not something I'm gonna just sweep under the carpet."

Sam wills his fists flat against the sofa and stares at Dean, "Okay. Fine. But no more finger pointing. I did wrong, but I wasn't the only one doing it. I wasn't the only one watching the wheels fall off."

Sam stands, turns as if to walk away and it's the push Dean's hind brain needs. Something deep down snaps and Sam finds himself pressed against the wall, face squashed against the god awful flock wallpaper, "Dean...don't push me..."

Dean lets Sam turn in his arms but doesn't let him away from the wall, "No, listen. The thought of you and....you and...it's burning my balls man. I'm having real issues not going back and sticking a sharpened pencil up his over styled ass. And yes. That should be the least of what I'm thinking on. But there you go. I'm...." Dean leans in, lays his lips at Sam's ear, "I'm jealous, okay!"

Sam feels Dean's breath ruffling his hair, ghosting across his ear, and all the pent up anger and frustration of the last few days comes rushing out of him in one vicious swipe of his lips against Dean's.

It's a kiss uncoordinated enough to rattle both their sets of teeth, but Sam's so far passed caring at this point. Dean admitting jealousy, weakness of any kind in fact, is tantamount to a confession of wanting a white picket fence and a happily ever after. It rocks Sam's socks and makes his cock twitch inside his sweats.

Dean's brain takes a second to catch up with his tongue but once it does he's shoving a knee between Sam's thighs and grinding him into the wall. He can feel the warmth of Sam's skin burning him through layers of clothes and he uses the sensation to chase away images of Sam on all fours begging someone else to take him. Uses it to banish the look on Sam's face sat on that rock in the middle of the desert.

The kiss deepens, becomes almost feral. Both men are trying to prove something, and both of them are trying to reclaim something.

Sam shoves his hands down the back of Dean's jeans, digs his nails in and spins them on the spot.

Dean could fight against Sam slamming him into the wall but he finds he doesn't want to.

The small voice in his head, the one who usually criticises and complains, is telling him that if he wants Sam to understand how much they both nearly lost out in that desert, then Dean needs to man up and let Sammy take the reins, let him run the show.

Dean needs Sam to understand that he trusts him, that he wants Sam to be the one, the only one and if that means he's gotta loose control, then so be it.

With one small exception, "Take your hair down," off Sam's disbelieving look, Dean tries to explain as best as his lust fritzed brain will let him, "please, I don't wanna see...and you never wear it up, and I kind of...Oh hell, I like the way it feels falling across my face."

Sam quirks an eyebrow as his neurons connect the dots and he realises that Dean's basically just said 'top me' without actually admitting he wants to be fucked.

Smirking down at his brother, leaning his body against Dean's so he can't squirm away from the wall, Sam reaches up and undoes the tie holding his hair in place, "Better?" he leans in, runs the tip of his tongue along Dean's collar bone, allowing stray strands of fresh washed hair to brush against his big brother's lips and does nothing to hide his smirk against Dean's skin.

Dean shivers against Sam's tongue and a moan he didn't know was building escapes his lips, "Oh god, Sam, please..."

Sam ignores Dean's writhing, ignores the whispered words and hands grasping at his shoulders and satisfies his taste for Dean's flesh.

Knee between denim clad thighs, Sam grinds his cock against Dean's belly and sucks skin between teeth, enjoying the almost pained answering hiss, "What, what Dean?"

Sam's got his hands underneath Dean's shirts and is pushing them away from his shoulders. When he comes up against resistance in the form of buttons, Sam does the only right and proper thing. He yanks both sides of Dean's shirts and shreds them. Rips them apart and listens to the sounds of buttons hitting walls and floor.

Dean's legs are shaking, his heart is pounding loud enough that Sam has to be able to hear it and every inch of his skin is calling out to be marked by his baby brother, "Sammy, I...come on man, please."

Between the pair of them they manage to back across the room, Sam twisting Dean in his arms until it's his legs that hit the closest bed, his back that lands flat against the covers. Sam doesn't follow Dean down. He takes his time, pulls his t-shirt over his head and slides the sweats down his thighs until he's completely naked.

Dean sees Sam's cock erect and weeping and his mouth waters. Saliva gathers under his tongue and he can't help leaning up and forward, gripping Sam's thighs and pulling him in close enough to reach out and run the tip of his tongue along Sam's slit.

The first taste is always the sweetest.

Dean gathers the pre-come leaking along Sam's head and curls his tongue back into his mouth, making a show of swallowing and smirking. Only half pretending to be a little cock sucking bitch. There is something so intoxicating about the taste of Sam on his tongue and he's been working off memories for so long that it almost makes him shoot his load right there.

Sam watches Dean's eyes close in, what...pleasure, and his cock jumps in his brother's face, "Dean, god!"

Dean doesn't wait for Sam to force him back down onto the bed, he hollows his cheeks and sucks Sam's whole length into his throat, swipes his tongue along the seam running from base to tip and pulls back. Crawling backwards across the bed, Dean undoes and shucks his trousers, laying himself out for Sam to see. His own cock is painfully hard but he doesn't pay it much attention, too busy watching Sam's face, watching the way his eyes roam Dean's body with a hungry, animalistic, possessive glint.

Dean bends his knees, opens himself up to Sam's hungry gaze and waits to be told what to do.

Sam let's his knees hit the edge of the mattress and leans over his brother, "Turn over."

Dean does as he's told without question. Rolling over onto all fours, he arches his back, wiggles his ass in the air and arches an eyebrow at Sam over his shoulder.

Sam smirks, nods, acknowledging Dean's acquiescence, and crawls onto the bed.

Dean looks uncertain for a second and Sam finds himself hesitating, "What?"

"Can I? Can I...do you trust me?"

Sam shouldn't be able to answer quite so quickly. Not after everything, but he finds that despite the hurt, anger and pain of the last few days, he now knows that yes, he does trust Dean, with everything, "Yes."

Dean's answering smile is sunshine bright. Warm enough to heat the entire room, "Turn round, stay standing."

Sam does as he's asked, wondering what Dean's up to until he feels the warm wetness of Dean's tongue at his hole, "Jesus!"

Dean smirks between Sam's cheeks and pushes against his back until he's leaning ever so slightly forward, just enough that Dean doesn't have to fight to lap at him.

Sam reaches out and grabs the desk chair to stop himself from hitting the floor. Knuckles white, Sam grips the back of it hard enough to make the wood creak, "Fuck, Dean."

Dean wastes no time with niceties. He hasn't had Sam's flavour in his mouth for far too long and it almost better than a fifth of Jack. The sound's Sam's making are music to Dean's ears. He needs Sam to understand exactly how much he means to him and this is one fine way of making that very plain.

Dean doesn't do this, not often, he's much more a fuck and fuck off kind of guy. Not that he doesn't enjoy foreplay, but usually it's Sam with his tongue rammed up Dean's ass, not the other way around.

Dean laves Sam's tight hole, revelling in the way Sam's skin twitches and pulses beneath his tongue and pulls Sam back against his face.

Sam's having issues with cohesive thought. Dean's got his mouth on Sam's hole and is just working the tip of his tongue inside when he feels Dean's fingers wrap his cock and squeeze. Sam's knees buckle and he just manages not to collapse over the back of the chair.

The scent of Sam filling his nostrils whilst his legs begin to go numb from kneeling against the bed spread make Dean's head swim. He can't remember the last time he made Sam's body quake this badly and it serves to remind him that he needs to stop being such a self absorbed asshat. Sliding his closed fist the length of Sam's shaft and sucking the heated flesh of Sam's asshole into his mouth, Dean wonders whether Sam will allow himself to fall off the edge or stop this before he's a lost cause.

As if reading Dean's mind, Sam reaches down and grips his brother's wrist, "Stop."

Dean does so immediately. Not wanting to lose the flavour of Sam on his tongue but enjoying the feeling of having control removed. It's amazing how much you can take in when you aren't the one giving the instructions; Sam's skin is warm, so warm he thinks it might leave burn marks against his face. The sheets are softer than he expected, so soft in fact that Dean thinks he's going to really enjoy being fucked into them. The sounds Sam makes when he's close to coming are addictive, every time he hears Sam suck in a breath and grind his teeth Dean wants to push him that little bit further until he has no way of clawing his way back from the edge.

Sam pulls away from Dean's tongue and turns, lays hands on the older man's shoulders and pushes.

Dean goes easily, concentrating on the heat rolling off of Sam's body, the scent of sex in the air and the look of barely held control on his baby brother's face.

"Up to the end of the bed, on all fours."

The assertive tone in Sam's voice has Dean's already aching cock jumping. It's not complete and utter dominance, it's the knowledge that he's being given that control, that's the hitch Dean can hear. That's the note in the back of his instructions. Sam's finally understanding what Dean is trying to give him.

Dean crawls slowly up the bed until his forehead rests against the bars of the headboard, and waits. The thrill of having Sam behind him, looking him over like a stabled horse, like something to be ridden and enjoyed, is a feeling Dean didn't know he would like quite so much.

Sam watches Dean settle at the head of the bed, watches the way his skin seems to glisten in the light. Fine sheen of sweat covering him from head to toe, and Sam can't help the predatory and primal need to completely take Dean's body for his own. It swells up from somewhere deep down. Somewhere he didn't even know existed.

Sam can't remember not wanting Dean, not wanting to crawl inside him, but this is new. That Dean is allowing him such control of his body is an intoxicating thing. Sam finally understands that Dean is making it right the only way he knows how. He's levelling the field. He's telling Sam with his willingness to 'do' that Sam is all Dean is ever going to want and that he's earned the right to see him completely unfettered.

Yes, definitely intoxicating.

Sam stalks across the bed, nudges a leg between Dean's thighs and runs a finger along the crack of his ass.

Dean shivers but says nothing, knowing that Sam will tell him what he wants when he wants it.

Sam leans over the edge of the bed, rummages around for the lube he knows is under there somewhere and unscrews the lid. He takes his time covering three fingers before tossing the tube to one side.

The tiny hairs at the nape of Dean's neck are standing on end and Sam thinks he could spend an age running his tongue along them, feeling the way they both tickle and scratch at the same time. One day Sam will count the freckles along Dean's ribs, one day when they have nothing to kill and no one to save, Sam will spend a very productive afternoon running his tongue from tiny brown dot to tiny brown dot.

The man in front of him is... he's loath to use the word, even in his own mind because he knows the look Dean would give him if he heard it, but he is, he's beautiful. He's coiled muscle and barely restrained strength. He's love and trust and valour and fight. He's everything heroes are made of and he's everything Sam can ever see himself needing.

As Sam moulds himself to Dean's body, he starts to play with Dean. First one finger, running round his ring of tight muscles. Tiny little stabbing movements, just enough force to make it hurt. Not out of a need to inflict but a need to have Dean really feel Sam there. Every time he sits down, every time he climbs behind Baby's wheel for the next few days, Sam wants Dean to squirm, he wants him to remember exactly what it felt like when Sam took him for his own.

Dean's squirming, trying to push back on the two fingers now thrusting in and out of him. It's not enough and too much all at once. Dean can feel things that usually wouldn't even register; Sam's nails need cutting, there's one that keeps snagging at him, making him wince and his cock weep. Sam's fingers are long, really long, it seems to take forever to slide from tip to knuckle, and once he's at the knuckle there's a fullness he didn't know was possible. It makes him want to twist on the spot, to see if he can force Sam's fingers any further inside.

Dean lets a shuddering breath escape as Sam adds a final finger. Roughly scissoring them until Dean is writhing against the head board, until his knees have dug grooves in the sheets. Sam wants so desperately to sink into Dean's grasping warmth, but he wants Dean to let himself go completely. At the moment, Dean's holding on, by hook or by crook, to what little sense he has left.

Sam wants Dean senseless and he's not afraid to push him to it.

Burying his three fingers as deep as they'll go, Sam reaches the other hand across Dean's shoulder, grabs both his brother's wrists and a bar of the headboard so Dean can't shift away, and twists his wrist. A full 180 degree turn that has Dean vibrating on Sam's fingers, crying out and calling Sam's name.

"God, fuck, Sammy!"

Satisfied that Dean's not coming down for a while, Sam withdraws the fingers still inside his brother, never letting his other hand drop from the headboard, and grips his own cock. Sliding the weeping head against Dean's ass, forcing it between his cheeks, Sam leans over Dean and asks, "Ready?"

Dean sucks in a breath and blows it out slowly, steadying his heart beat and shaking thighs as best he can, "You have no idea. Please."

For a second Sam considers being gentle, considers 'making love' to his brother, but that isn't what this is about. It isn't about hurt and pain either, but it is about Dean's ability to take whatever Sam can give and Sam slams his hips forward, buries himself all the way to the crease in Dean's thighs. Buries himself deep enough for the head of his cock to brush the over sensitive bundle of nerves inside his brother's ass.

Sam braces himself for Dean's reaction and isn't disappointed.

Dean, despite his hands being pinned, arches himself into Sam, slams his back against Sam's chest and cries out, "Jesus fucking Christ."

Sam stills, not because he wants Dean to be able to claw back some sense of coherency, but because he wants Dean to beg. He wants Dean to plead with him to fuck him, hard. Snaking a hand underneath Dean, Sam grabs Dean's cock. There is no gentleness here, he simply fucks Dean's shaft as hard as he can, hard enough to feel heat blossom beneath his fingers.

Dean tries to shift about on Sam's cock but is forced to stay still by the grip Sam has on his wrists, "Please..."

Sam continues to jerk Dean violently and chuckles, "Please what Dean?"

Dean's on fire. Every inch of him is burning, is alight with Sam's touch. He wants to move, he needs to move. He needs Sam to fuck him to within an inch of his life but all he's getting is a damn good hand job and fullness that's gonna have him wincing when he sits, for a week. Then a light goes off in his brain. In the part that's still semi-conscious of anything other than the feel of Sam's hand on his cock, of Sam's throbbing cock buried in his ass, "Please fuck me. Please, baby boy, I need it. I need you."

The raw need in Dean's voice, the stutter and stumble of the words almost has Sam coming like a freight train. Instead he grits his teeth and starts up a rhythm that rocks both the bed and the two men on it.

The sound of the headboard slamming against the wall, the little flakes of plaster fluttering into dean's hair and the weight of Sam's exertion coupled with the hand roughly palming his cock is enough to have Dean throwing his head around hard, almost shattering Sam's nose, "God Sam, Sammy, I'm gonna, shit...please...don't let me....not alone."

What Dean does is beg, incoherent half sentence and pleas. What Sam hears is that Dean wants them to fall off the edge together, wants an equal throw at this new beginning, starting with the unravelling of both their souls.

The only thing in existence for Sam and Dean is the bed that they're ruining, the bed that when they eventually check out of this shit hole motel, they're going to have to pay for because it is slowly being torn to pieces by the weight of two full grown men fucking like animals on top of it.

Sam closes his eyes, lays his forehead between Dean's shoulder blades and rotates the wrist attached to the fingers wrapped round Dean's cock until both he and Dean are shuddering and emptying themselves. Sam inside Dean. Dean across Sam's knuckles and the bedspread.

Dean's vision recedes to the smallest of points. His cock pulses in Sam's hand and his ass tightens around Sam's cock and the only thing holding him upright is the hand pinning both his wrists above his head.

Sam has the where with all not to collapse on top of Dean, not when that would pull his brother's shoulders out of joint. Instead, Sam pumps his fist a couple more times until Dean's cock is flaccid in his grasp. He let's Dean's cock go, takes his brother's weight in that arm, releases Dean's wrists and lowers him to the bed, "You okay big brother?"

Dean is, to put it mildly, a big pile of post-orgasm-goo. His ears are ringing, his head is swimming and damned if he isn't stupidly close to tears, "I...I'm good. Fuck I'm good."

Sam chuckles, roots around with the covers until they're both under them instead of on top and pulls Dean against his chest, "Love you."

Dean smiles through the haze of much needed sleep and sated lust and wraps an arm around Sam's ribs, "L've y'too l'tle br'ther"

Sam listens as Dean's breathing evens out and finds himself feeling lighter somehow.

His heart isn't completely mended. His soul isn't completely salved. But Sam's sure that they can make it work. If they stick it out together, no matter the crap that gets flung at them.

They'll kick it in the ass.

Ain't nothing gonna beat the Winchester's. Not this time.


End file.
